Behind Blue Eyes
by Kami-Inu
Summary: Dark AU. The more he pushed away, the more she seemed to pull him back closer. Prison life was built on solitude, after all. She was just a misplaced ray of light, and he was just an old nightmare. That's what they kept telling themselves, anyway.
1. Man In The Box

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**WARNING: This story contains strong violence, language, references to abuse/sex/suicide, as well as a lemon [sex scene]. If any of these are not to your liking, I highly recommend reading something else, as I am not interested in causing unintentional discomfort.  
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**Man in the Box**

Echoes. This damn place was designed with them in mind.

Constantly, the sounds from the outside would reverberate off the walls, bouncing about the cold hallways and around the cell before fading away into the depths of his mind. And for a little while, he would have peace. Until another set of footsteps made their way down the long corridors, heels clacking against hard tile. Day and night, on and on.

The footfalls were the worst. They reminded him of all he'd never have: the freedom to come and go as he pleased. At least with the muttering, the chanting, the ramblings and screaming, he knew that the voices belonged to those who shared the same fate as he. They were just as trapped and helpless in their situations, simply waiting for death to come down and collect them, if they didn't find a way to do the job themselves first. He had no real desire to drown them out. It wasn't like they had it any better than him.

But the pacing. The fluid movements, from the top of the railing to the short staircase, and past the various tightly sealed cells. Those figures he could barely make out through the slit of plexiglass at the top of his barred door. He couldn't tell if they were male or female, unless they came right up to his cage, voices clear enough to distinguish. He hated the way they mocked him, pressing various buttons at their command to open or close whichever door was on the list for the day, or to simply make their way back to comfort. They strode up and down this lifeless setting, acting for all the world like royalty.

He wanted to rip away those auras of superiority. Just give him five minutes alone with one of them, maybe less. Gender didn't matter, though he'd prefer a man. Equal footing, and all that, even if he had no qualms about striking out at the fairer sex. He'd show them how wrong they were, to wave their assumed superiority in front of him like bait, just out of reach.

The routine of prison life wasn't that bad. Not for him, anyway. The repetition was easy enough to memorize, and it was a guarantee that no one else would dare to mess with you-not if you'd managed to land yourself here. The row of the nameless. They weren't strangers. It ran more along the lines of nobody wanted to remember their names. They didn't ever want to consider the fact that what lurked beyond the tempered steel door could ever even remotely be considered human.

No, prison life wasn't a bad thing at all. He just hated those damn guards. Those sounds and motions brought out the worst in him. They reminded him of what he had lost, why he had wound up here. They stirred that dark hunger deep inside, the hunger that had been a part of him for as long as he could remember. The predator may have been contained, but he was certainly still alive.

The jail was failing in its ultimate purpose. It didn't serve to dissuade his murderous urges. Instead, it provoked them. Daily.

His hand reached upwards, barely visible in the shadows of his cell. Sprawled back on his cot, piercing eyes focused on the stone ceiling above, his fingers began to trace at the half mask along his jaw, to the right. His brand. Resembling a bone fragment, it had marked him for life, from his late youth on. He was, and always would be, a monster.

The killer. The hunter. The psycho. The Panther.

He smirked to himself. _Pantera..._how he longed to hear someone shriek that name with their dying breath, cursing his existence as they sank down, drowning in their own blood. How he relished the sight in his mind's eye; old memories that danced about night after night, with no end in sight. The sensations were so fresh, he swore that sometimes, he was actually there. Was actually in the middle of a massacre, skin soaked with sweat and lifeforce, hand clutching tightly at the thick hilt of a long blade. His weapon of choice-it had almost become like a third arm.

Here though, his street reputation meant nothing. To the guards, he was and always would be, a number. Or, if they were feeling particularly bold, his last name. A single moniker. A family name, thrown at him like a wet rag or a bitter slur. His gaze narrowed, and he clenched his fist.

There was one, though...a long time ago. Someone who hadn't referred to him by either choice. Someone who had looked him straight in the eye, and without hesitation, had allowed his given name to fall from her lips like drops of honey. He still remembered those finer details, whether he wanted to or not. Her eyes. Her hair. Her voice. Her skin. Her scent. The way it had felt, just to share those moments of contact, however fleeting...

On the one hand, it was strangely refreshing. He could feel the memory wash over him like a rushing stream. But on the other, it disgusted him. To think: a being that had encountered him personally, more than once, yet lived without fear of his presence? It was practically insulting! His teeth ground just thinking about it!

Sometimes, just sometimes, he wondered what she was doing at that moment. What kind of a life was she leading, did she have many friends, had her address changed? That sort of drivel. It wasn't like he gave a rat's ass about any of his former colleagues, much less the families of his victims or the people he'd used to work under, at one point. But this one...she wormed her way in, whether he wanted her to or not.

He tried to keep up a list of the various ways he could show his 'appreciation' to this character, in whatever violent way happened to make itself known to his conscious mind. Perhaps with fists? Or knives? He'd never have any use for a gun, no matter if it were quicker and easier. He liked the extra lengths he could go to with his prey. Some of those carved up carcasses had truly been a wonder to behold, in his eyes.

No matter how frustrated he got though, his thoughts of vengeance never seemed to get very far. They always trailed off, either giving way to sleep, other subjects, or outside interruptions. And this time was no different.

With a blaring buzz and a heavy creak, the cell door began to open. He sat up, squinting at the fluorescent light that filtered in from outside. Two large figures stood in front of the entrance, stepping aside to make way for another figure. In their hands was a pair of glinting handcuffs. He scoffed. Was it that time already? Slowly, he stood up, ignoring their admonishments and irritation at his languid movements. Like he really cared. They could wait until doomsday. It wasn't like he had anything to look forward to.

"Hurry up, number 2136657! Or your time will be shortened! Got no interest in playing waiting games with a scumbag like you..."

Just another day among the dead.

**A/N: So...how'd you like it?**

**Thus begins my first full-length GrimmHime fanfiction. I've been holding onto it for months, but haven't gotten around to posting it until now. If all goes well though, you can expect an update every Friday [since it's completed already and all...XD]**

**Yes, it's an AU. But I did my very best to keep the characters personalities in check, even as I told this story. I also did my best to mix facts from the original 'Bleach' canon in here, though this time around there's nothing supernatural about it. This is a modern day, RL fanfic [or at least, it tries to be.]**

**Let me know what you liked, and what could use a bit of work-story may be saved on my computer, but that doesn't mean I can't improve upon it. Everything could use a freshening-up now and again.**

**Next chapter: character number two. There IS a reason why their names aren't used yet, but ATM I can't recall why. Mystery? Buildup? [Perhaps the revelation of their names is supposed to be an event in itself...]**

**Later.**

**=^.^=**


	2. Just A Girl

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Just a Girl**

"Paging Dr. Ishikawa, you have a call at the front desk. Paging Dr. Ishikawa..."

The pen scratched against the paper, clipboard teetering upon the edge of the tabletop. It swayed towards the bottom with every other shift of the writer's hand, tethering precariously but somehow not falling. After a few more moments of this game, it was picked up and carried across, from the desk behind the counter to the drop box outside the door. Letting out a soft sigh, the nurse tucked a fallen strand of amber hair behind her ear, smoothing out her pale coral scrubs.

It was another day at the hospital, with the usual requirements of filling out forms, taking vitals, admitting new faces, cleaning up here and there, making small talk, and, in general, providing whatever assistance was asked of them. So then why did she feel so nervous, so jumpy? It wasn't like anything was different here.

Well...unless you counted the decision that she'd come to a couple days prior to this.

She looked upwards at the clock on the wall. Her shift for the day was almost over. It was going on late afternoon, and she was anticipating getting to return home and relax, if only for a few hours. Tomorrow she had the day off, but she was still going to be busy. Possibly more so than usual, which was a hard thought to consider, seeing where she was employed. How could anything be more nerve-wracking than holding multiple lives in your hands on a daily basis?

Heading back behind the counter, she started cleaning up and gathering her belongings. First, pick up the remains of her lunch. Then, item inventory. Coat, purse, phone, the book that she had been skimming in those few minutes where she hadn't been active or on-call. She'd only managed to make it through the prologue and chapter one. She'd purchased it a week or so ago, and was finally starting her reading now. It had sounded interesting at the time, but her interest kept wavering, as various subjects stole her focus away from the plot line before her. This wasn't counting her job; of course she'd put the book down to do her duty. But when she actually had a moment of free time to herself, ultimately her energy would transfer to something else or other. Her tendency to daydream hadn't waned with age-in fact, it seemed to have gotten worse.

The only difference was that now, her dreams were solely comprised of the same face, portrayed in an array of situations...all of which shouldn't have been imagined in the first place. One of the few bad habits that had carried over from her youth: allowing her heart to be involved in a setup that shouldn't have mattered at all. Even her friends had told her how dangerous this was. It wasn't a game, wasn't some childish fantasy that she could control and automatically expect a happy ending from. The fact that she'd even bothered establishing contact in the first place-

"I'm checking out now. See you later, Unohana-san." The doctor who headed the cases on the floor waved at her from her seat in front of the computer, gentle smile returned with one of the girl's own. Usually, her superior's calm demeanor could help soothe any worries on her mind, but not today. She could just picture what she'd have to say if she knew of the current scenario that she was choosing to put herself into. For one thing, seeking out a former patient...!

As she made her way towards the elevator, passing the mix of faces that had come up to her section for visitation or a new room, she had to keep reminding herself that biting her lips wasn't a good action to be caught engaging in, no matter if she was stressed. Another bad habit from her youth, though this one had been easier to extinguish with time.

Most of the time, it seemed like the ride down took forever, what with the stops every few floors. But today, it went by in a flash, and soon enough she found herself standing at the main entrance, doors sliding open as she crossed through to make her way over the upper parking lot. The fall weather was cool-grey sky still as stone and the breezes kept to a minimum. The train station was only two blocks away. Brushing another loose strand of hair from her equally grey eyes, her sneakers thudded against the tar and cement with steps that seemed burdened and clumsy-well, clumsier than most days. She had stumbled three times before reaching the exit of the lot.

The thoughts that weighed on her mind now were enough to block out any natural instincts or desires; in another couple of hours it would be evening, and dinner would be around the corner. But all she could focus on was the journey that lay ahead of her tomorrow.

Her heart was a fluttering mess of nerves and excitement, and she had to clasp her hands together tightly in her lap to keep from fiddling with the ends of her loose locks or her purse, or even just twitching in general. More than once, she'd come too close to bumping an innocent passenger with her elbow.

How long had it been since the last time she'd tried to contact him? A couple of years, at least. There had been a reason for that-well, two: not just a lack of response, but also an increase in her life's activities. Friends had gotten married, while others had wound up moving, to pursue career dreams. She'd been there every step of the way, as always. And of course, she'd been dealing with the tail end of her medical studies, too. Even from a young age, she'd always been one to reach out to others, wherever they came from, to offer a helping hand.

Now, this was going to be the first time she'd not only be seeking out a response, but the first time she'd seen him in a long time. It had to have been five years since the last time she'd heard anything about his life.

She'd just gotten her first job on the front lines at the hospital. She hadn't been on call that night, though. And granted, from the stories she'd heard, it hadn't exactly been a pretty sight, usual cases be damned. She'd seen the aftermath though, once he'd been stitched and cleaned by another's hand: Blood, bullets, broken bones-the list went on and on. And to complete the picture were the police officers, flanking the outside of the patient's room. This person _had_ to be near inhuman, to survive that much of a barrage...

Her heart skipped in her chest. Did he even know that she had come to see him, more than once? Did he ever catch a glimpse of her, silent as a shadow, drifting from the door to the chair by bedside, in and out whenever she could manage? It wasn't like her, to pay so much attention to one patient-and a criminal one, at that! Did he even remember...what had happened, the day before he came to, enough to be packed up and discharged from the hospital, and into the waiting arms of binding metal?

As her gaze flickered across, to land on the rapidly shifting scenery outside her window, she switched her wondering to how he had changed in all these years. Most likely, he was still as tall and imposing as he had been back in the day. But...

This time, she couldn't help it: she bit at her lower lip, and began chewing. He'd been locked up for so long; prison was one thing. Beyond that last time she'd seen him in bandages...half a decade? It must've already felt like an eternity. Who knew whether or not he even still remembered her existence?

She couldn't yet believe that she'd managed to keep that connection between them, much less obtained an audience, no matter how brief or monitored. She supposed part of it had to do with his response to her inquiry as to the names on the visitation list; although usually reserved for family, he obviously was devoid of them, and thus no one was expecting anybody to speak up and request to be added as a contact.

What was even more surprising was the fact that they'd said yes, to this young girl who was simply known as 'a friend from high school'. But then again, the party in question had been pretty heavily under the influence of pain killers, which were more than notorious for changing one's mood...though she couldn't deny that she'd been startled as to the extent of their actions in said state.

Of course, she hadn't piped up with those bits of 'vital' information when applying. It was how she'd gotten this far. After that, it was simply a matter of reviewing her form through the higher-ups, and making sure she wasn't hiding some ulterior motives for wanting to drop by.

And she wasn't. Well, nothing that would be deemed threatening in the eyes of the law, anyway. In their eyes, once he'd sobered up and read her words...well, based on what she remembered from high school, he wasn't much for friends, let alone socializing. Not even with the other members of his gang.

It wasn't like she'd been expecting any sort of reply to the letters she'd sent out. Had she? Maybe 'expected' wasn't the right word, but she'd be lying if she said that she hadn't held onto some sort of hope, that he would regard her notes and bother throwing her at least some sort of correspondence. Even if it was merely a hand-written 'buzz off'.

Of course, during that entire time, she'd never had the guts to actually go and visit him on his own turf; take that single step where angels feared to tread. Make her way down the ladder, into the pit. The pit that was meant to be a warning to good, pristine little girls like her. And yet, her heart called out-no, it begged, _demanded_ to go there, and seek out that face from her youth. The face she should have given up on a long time ago.

She hadn't. She hadn't then, and she wouldn't now. It had just taken her a while to gather her wits and courage again.

By this point, the train was almost at her stop. Standing up, the girl made her way towards the sliding doors, trying not to bump into anyone. She found a space on the bar above her, and held onto it securely to keep her balance. With a ding and the automated voice of the announcer, she stepped out onto the platform, pulling her coat a bit tighter around her shoulders. The temperature had dropped a few more degrees since she'd first clambered on board.

Tomorrow morning, she had to wake up early. Get cleaned up in the bathroom, dress, eat breakfast, and then spend another couple of hours seated in front of her mirror, practicing what she would do and say once she'd arrived at her destination. It seemed so simple, going over the routine in her mind. But she knew that she'd have trouble falling asleep tonight, and tomorrow it would be too late. She couldn't turn back.

But then again, how many times had she turned away in her life, out of fear? So many opportunities had been lost that way. A miracle was the best way to describe finding her place as a nurse, and that had been with the extra support of friends by her side. This time, she was on her own. Nobody would be holding her hand. The Princess was willingly signing over her soul to the Devil. The metaphor did not help to ease the tremors, minute as they may have been, as she fished out her keys to unlock her door.

However, it was out of unexpected bravery that this whole situation had started in the first place. She had acted on her heart's desire, and this was the result. And if she were allowed to be honest with herself? She wouldn't change a thing. Not one iota. No matter how rough tomorrow was going to be.

Slipping off her shoes, she shut the door behind her, taking a few steps into the darkness of her home. She didn't as yet have any idea how she was going to get any shuteye tonight. Maybe her nerves would settle after a good dinner and soak in the tub? She pondered the thought half-heartedly as she turned on the lights to her living room.

Her distant gaze scanned over her surroundings with the faintest of interest. Her thoughts were still a million miles away. _Maybe._

**A/N: And that wraps up chapter two. Was it interesting?**

**Update is early b/c I have a convention to attend this weekend [yay!], and I won't be coming online as frequently as I usually do. I know, I know-not a whole lot going on as of yet. But it picks up, I promise! Right now, I'm basically laying everything out; the necessary pieces of info before we go into the action. There's probably quite a few questions rising up, and they will be answered in time. For now though, it's just a matter of waiting.**

**It's not too hard to guess whose eyes we're seeing things from here. Every so often, the story will jump between different viewpoints, involving our two main leads. I have far too much fun getting into their heads. XD**

**All feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Next time: his view again. Memories. Mild enlightenment**_._ **And-what's this? A surprise? You'll see.**

**Later, everybody. And take care.**

**=^.^=**_  
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	3. Anger Rising

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Anger Rising**

Hygiene wasn't so much about getting clean as it was being broken down and dissected via stares and lack of privacy. No matter if he showered alone in that wheeled stall; the presence of the guards and shackles served as another reminder as to just how much he had lost when he'd stepped inside these walls.

Then again, if these suckers thought that being forced to strip before them was honestly degrading in his eyes, they really had no idea as to whom they were dealing with. He had nothing to hide. Let them take in his scars and structure. Let their eyes settle on the prominent appendage between his legs; there was a smug sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that most of them didn't even have the goods worth parading around.

He wasn't a shrinking violet. Every taut muscle in his body was on display, reminding them exactly who they caged here; that at any given moment, he could just as well snap and tear them apart, limb by limb. His steely blue gaze unnerved them, he knew it did. He refused to look away as he took care of his various businesses-_I ain't no whipped dog._ Let them avert their eyes if it bugged them so damn much. Perhaps they didn't like the idea of being mentally dismembered by the legendary Pantera?

His lips would curl into a sneer at the thought, and depending on who was at the post for the day, it could sometimes induce a gulp or even a shiver in the high and mighty 'guards' that stood before him, as their stoic facade fell away to primal human instinct. Fight or flight. He may have been a prisoner, but in the end he was still a predator. They could hide behind their badges and weapons all they liked. All he needed to take them down were his own two fists. Not even a blade was required.

Sitting in his cell once more, his azure eyes stared off into space as his damp blue locks drenched his folded arms, pressed into the pillow behind them. His thoughts began to wander again, this time back to that smiling face of his past, so hopeful and naïve. So helpful. The one who'd gotten away. Willingly.

The muscles in his left shoulder tensed, and he lowered a hand to trail over the thick scar that ran around the socket. How many years had it been since then? Nearly a decade, he supposed.

She'd wound up in the medical field, last he recalled. He had to stifle a snort of amusement. How fitting. How predictable. He could have easily revealed that outcome to her, and he wasn't close to being a psychic. It was just who she was. Her nature. She was always so goddamn stubborn and determined to help. Even at the cost of her own safety. Gutsy, though quite stupid as well.

He let out a sigh, returning his hand to its position behind his head. At one point in his life here, she had bothered to take the time and send him letters. Letters, of all things!

He'd been dumbstruck the first time it had happened, eyes scanning quickly over the contents of the thick note. How had she found him? Why had the higher ups allowed her through? And how the hell was she able to write so much drivel, to him of all people? What, was she expecting him to actually reply? Fat chance of that ever happening. He'd simply torn the paper up, figuring that a lack of response would be enough to end the contact.

Besides, it wasn't like he'd be allowed to keep the blasted letters, anyway. Three books to a prisoner, nothing more or less. Anything else would be collected and stored away, or simply discarded. He didn't even have the reading material; why would he bother to keep those sappy notes close to him? They served no purpose.

But they'd kept on coming. The schedule wasn't even; sometimes two would show up within a week, while at other times, it would be months between new notes. No matter the distance though, his answer was always the same: open, read, and then destroy. It had been about two years since the last card. Hopefully, she'd finally given up.

His thoughts had started wandering, yet again. He remembered when he was in elementary school, around third grade. That year, they'd initiated what they called a 'Pen Pal Program': you'd be assigned the name of a student at a school from another district-one class to each room. Then, you'd correspond with them for the whole semester. He let out a huff.

It had been so fucking annoying. He'd never been much for writing or books, let alone communication. From an early age, he'd been taught that actions always spoke louder than words. The only use he had for a book was as a makeshift weapon. And even then, he never carried them. It was no wonder his grades had fallen into disarray, though he could just as well blame that on his instructors, too.

That wasn't the point here, though. The point was, he was expected to make mindless chatter with some stranger who he'd most likely never meet. He always caught hell from the teacher when he turned in his finished letters; they said to write about recent things, and keep it happy. Not too personal. Well, what was wrong with his notes? These things did make him happy! _"Dear so-and-so, yesterday I went creek wading. I found a couple of frogs. Their skin was slimy and cool to the touch. Their legs looked funny when they hopped. I wanted to know how they moved, and why they felt like that. So I got out my pocketknife, and cut them open. Well, I started with the legs, 'cause I wanted to see what it looked like inside. Were they filled with rubber? They were really stretchy. I went and-" _

A few times, he'd wound up in the principal's office, while his teacher prattled on about him having a 'disgusting imagination', and not following the assignment guidelines. What, did she want him to show her the remains? He'd taken them home, and chucked them in the overgrown empty lot near his house. Although thick, it wouldn't be too hard to find them again; he'd specifically chosen to dump them near the lone tree stump in the back corner. Maybe then she'd shut up and stop putting so many words in his mouth.

He always got a kick out of imagining how his pen pal would've responded to the true content of his letters, before he'd been forced to rewrite them with sunny descriptions of pointless events, none of which had ever happened. This irritated him to no end. As cold a bastard as he was, he'd never been one for lying. He'd just never realized, as a child, that there was really anything 'wrong' with his after-school activities, or the vivid fantasies that had pervaded his daydreams: not of flying planes or piloting rockets, slaying dragons or traveling the world, but of catching hold of a human body, restraining the limbs, silencing the lips, covering the eyes, and then...

_Exploring_. That's how he'd referred to it in his youth. Where others had run about the yard, screeching and laughing as they chased their friends across the dirt and grass, he'd surveyed the structures with very little interest, aside from the times when a cry of joy turned to one of pain. Then, his attention was drawn. He had no need for friends, had no need to be held down by those who would only eventually turn their backs. His 'family' had been more than a perfect example of this.

He'd watch them move, watch them sway and canter. Watch them live. All he could focus on was stopping those sounds that escaped their lips. How would it feel? Would it hurt? Would it take long, or just a moment? He was but a kid; how hard would he have to push, shove, swing, step, to make it register? How would it look? He'd gotten his glimpses of blood: scabs on skinned knees, cat scratches from the strays that lurked around the neighborhood, and a few spots here and there from the occasional schoolyard scuffle. A bleeding lip here. A dripping nose there.

And of course, in his own house. Breaking glass. Bottles. Words that he couldn't spell, much less understand the meaning of, other than that they were the offspring of anger. They had soon become his closest vocal allies, once he'd grown of age to actually comprehend the weight behind them, as well as write them out-if he so chose, on the side of a building or whatever object he could reach-in a scrawl of chicken scratch or tag symbols.

The hitting. The screaming. The threats. The slamming doors. The burning. The smoke. The kicking and dragging. Crunching. Slapping. Punching. Bruises and murmurs, apologies and trembling fingers. Those calloused hands that had run through his short mop of sky blue hair, telling him that it would be okay, when their face looked like they'd just gone twelve rounds, and then swapped out their opponent only to go twelve more. And this was on a good day. The rest of the time, he was either ignored or, if he wasn't quick enough to slip into his room, a makeshift target for whoever happened to be in the house that day and in a bad mood.

Sometimes, he had to wonder though: if forced to choose between the war contained in the walls of his home, against the battle outside, which would he jump for? The physical pain was almost more rewarding, in a way. In his youth, he hadn't been able to explain it.

He smirked to himself then. Every single time, no matter how worse for the wear he'd wound up, he had never once given in; had never given them the satisfaction of seeing him cry. When his teachers had tried to break him down, shoving him aside as nothing more than a troublemaker from the wrong side of the tracks; a piece of poor riff-raft, pointlessly brought into this world by careless actions. His classmates thought he was a freak, because of the way he looked and the fact that his interests never matched up with theirs.

When children were hurt, adults were expected to comfort them. Friends were called upon to cheer them up. But when everyone else was the tormentors, where could a child turn?

His eyes narrowed. Simple: the child just had to learn how to be a bigger, better monster. And for every kick, every curse and spit-laden shriek, every yank of the hair and stomp of the foot, every rake of nails and fist to whatever body part was visible and vulnerable, every taunt and insult, every black mark and exclusion, he kept it in. He allowed it to build; savored the suffering in those hours of solitary, whether on the floor, in his room, or pressed against the fence at school, looking out at the scenery beyond. So tempting to run to...to run through, running from this.

He'd never tried it, though. As a child, anyway. He'd forced himself to attend every last day of that miserable march, a slave to the rules of that institution. It wasn't until he'd reached high school that he'd begun to skip, finally dropping out in his last year. And to 'celebrate' the severing of his ties...

A dark chuckle passed his lips, startling to hear coming forth from the shadows in his lone cell. Oh, what a sight it had been! To see those pathetic sacks of shit, writhing upon the ground and begging for mercy as they'd stared into those chilling blue eyes...a mercy that had never been granted to him. Not by them, not by his peers, not by his teachers, not by any of the world. It was no wonder he'd wound up the way he had.

Humans existed for one purpose and one purpose only: to be ripped into unrecognizable shreds by him. When he was a kid, his playground was his imagination. There, he could pick apart, scrutinize, terrorize, let go of all that was locked inside. He could be as brutally honest as he wanted, beyond what a mere child was supposed to be capable of. And not just with his words, either. Eventually, those fantasies had become reality, the line blurring one inch more the older he'd gotten.

Except for that one...that one face, who had never stepped down or shied away from him, not even when he'd held her life in his hands. Not even when she'd had no options to fight. Not even when he'd turned his back. Again, his thoughts wandered. Did he still cross her mind, as often and infrequently as she did his? It would be a fair payoff, in his opinion. It wasn't like he actually enjoyed remembering her and the events she brought up...

From his musings, the male drifted into an uneasy slumber. He was awakened by the morning call, and rose from his bed with a muttered string of curses. In his cell, he flipped off the guard who continued on down the line, banging on each door and hollering in turn. This place would never get old.

After taking care of his morning routine, he prepared for a day of napping and general dullness. That was when he was once more disturbed by pounding. At his door. Someone was pounding on his cell door again. Slowly, he sat up. What was it now? Had they finally got sick of his defiant manners, be it during hygiene, meals, or even groups? Maybe they'd secretly installed cameras while he'd been out in the courtyard. Expecting a confrontation, he clenched his fists as the door mechanically unlocked, revealing another trio of guards.

But their words were far from expected. "Get up, asshole. Lucky you, wonder of wonders-ya got a visitor."

**A/N: And that's the end of chapter three. Methinks I got a bit too happy w/going into the head of one of our two main characters...sorry if this seems a bit on the boring side. ^^; Like I mentioned before, there's a few of these single POV chapters between him and her. But they serve as development, to flesh out each one's world and contribute to the storyline. At least, that's how I meant for them to be. Hope it's coming across properly. All feedback is welcomed and appreciated.  
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**Next time: Her POV, and, at long last, a meeting. And I can finally start using names again [huzzah!] Later.**

**=^.^=**


	4. Vicarious

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Vicarious**

If the morning rush for work was bad, then the current frenzy the young woman found herself in was even worse.

She hadn't meant to sleep in. She really hadn't. After preparing a dinner of tofu patties with extra seasoning and some rice, also modestly spruced up, she'd watched a few various programs on TV intermittently, before finally shutting it off for the night and heading to the bathroom.

Allowing herself some time to soak under the running water, she'd tried not to focus on everything that lay in wait for her the next day, and instead mused over the tasks given to her earlier in her shift, the boxed lunch she'd enjoyed at the desk, and the two installments of the story she'd gotten to read. She pondered why the main heroine had to constantly dress in such thin clothing, or why she didn't remember to bring a coat whenever she went out. Wasn't she supposed to be a psychic? Why wasn't she better prepared for the weather? She chalked it up to possible foreshadowing, perhaps a hint as to future predicaments in store.

Once she'd turned out the lights and settled under the covers however, she hadn't been able to turn off the multitude of random queries and jumbled fears that continued to progress through her mind, in swirling colors behind her closed eyes. It hadn't been until later in the wee hours of the morning that she'd managed to doze off, only to wake up over thirty minutes after her alarm went off.

She'd thrown the blankets off in a flurry, scrambling to pull herself together and project a presentable image. The clothing had been hauled on, and she'd nearly choked herself with the collar of her cardigan, forgetting to undo the top buttons. The hairbrush had been quickly yanked through her auburn locks, snagging on tangles at the ends. The ever-present hair clips had been set in place, though now, as an adult they were hidden behind her loose bangs that framed her face, instead of atop to pin them back. She skidded into the kitchen, to scoop up a meal of yogurt and juice, the former topped off with crushed pastry crumbs.

The mad dash brought her back briefly to her days in the learning system. Mostly middle and high school. Living alone, it wasn't always easy to get things done in an orderly manner. She'd had to learn to get used to handling everything on her own. Setting the alarm, remembering the routes, making the meals, setting out her uniform the night before, etc. And then, there had been the bullies, waiting outside the gates...

Shutting the door behind her, she made her way down toward the stairs-only to realize that she'd forgotten her purse. Good thing she'd remembered to grab her keys? After solving that mishap, she'd proceeded on, stumbling at the last step before picking up the pace to the train station. Seated on the platform, she watched the schedules with darting eyes as she kept breathing in and out with all the steadiness she could muster.

Today, she wasn't taking her usual route. She was riding a completely different line, and would have to switch halfway through the trip. She hoped she could remember the stop to get off at. She repeated the name in her head, over and over again, first like a mantra, then like a child's rhyme. She even came up with a little tune for it, as her feet swung above the tiled ground. At twenty-six years of age, she still fell into the patterns of her adolescence without missing a beat. Clad in that pearl pink sweater and flowing purple floral skirt, she could easily pass for a young adult, maybe even a dainty teen.

At long last, the train pulled into the station. Making her way through the doors, she found a seat not too far from the entrance, and hoped that her presence wasn't remarked upon. She had no idea as to who rode this line; were they businessmen, college students, stay at home mothers, high schoolers, the elderly, delinquents? Looking over the few scattered faces gathered among the rows, she still had no clue. Her imagination soon got involved, making up stories for the people closest to her.

The sleepy woman in the seat three rows ahead of her was a secretary who was quite bored with her work, and in all honesty wanted to be an artist. But she was afraid that at her age, it was too late to attempt anything. She had a bad habit of doodling on the edges of the papers she was supposed to be looking over, and had gotten into the habit of accentuating her outfits with flashy brooches, or adding an extra touch of makeup to her features. It was a way to show off her skills without breaking the rules. Her nails were well-kept, with the faintest hints of a design wrapping around the thumb. Tasteful, but still just a bit out of the norm.

The saddened seeming old man across from her was going to visit his grandkids. He'd grown up listening to his father's stories of traveling and moving and the war, back in the days when electronics had only been a far-off dream. Thus, he tried to pass on those values to his children, and his children's children. But it had only gone so far with his, and as for the others, they were only concerned with the latest episode of some television program, or charging the batteries to their cell phones and game systems. He'd wind up talking himself to slumber, lost in the thoughts of the good ol' days when youth were easily entertained by candy and fairy tales.

The young man a row behind her was a wannabe rock star, who was forced to work at a restaurant while he waited for his big break. It hadn't been easy trying to hide all the tattoos and piercings he'd accumulated since graduating from high school. Most of his friends had gone on to careers in the white collar fields, while he had stayed behind, strumming his guitar and trying to come up with a good riff or two. He'd made a few new friends at his job, though ultimately they were aiming to save up money for higher education, or were working part-time for spending cash while they took courses at the community or main college. He couldn't help feeling like a man lost at sea, torn between his past and the ever-looming future.

Her first stop arrived, and she left the car, heading for the closest bench to wait for the next arrival. She had to clear off the surface of a few loose papers and a plastic cup-thankfully, there was a garbage can nearby-before sitting down. She'd never really been to this station, and was mildly surprised at the more noticeable tags on the walls, and bits of trash scattered in the corners upon the floor.

She wondered briefly if it attracted scavengers, then had to hold back a nervous laugh at the image of a group of cats, or maybe raccoons, even badgers, marching into the station in a line, ready and eager to find a bite to eat. It was like a cartoon playing out in her mind.

Eventually, the next train showed up, and once more she prepped herself for the unfamiliar ride. This car had more faces than the first, though she didn't bother playing her 'create a story' game for any of them as she watched the new scenery whiz past the glass. Perhaps it was because her destination was drawing so much closer now? It was possible, though she never really went over it in her head. Her heart was pounding, and she saw it as a counter, each beat coinciding with the tick of a nonexistent clock.

She didn't miss the stop announcement, though she was already standing before the door, waiting to leave. The walk to the institution wasn't too long, but there was a distinct shift in energy as she turned the corner and started the trek up the hill. After a few yards of this, she reached level footing once more.

The setting outside was far less inviting than what she was used to; the penitentiary wasn't meant to be among the masses, so of course the surroundings were more remote and gritty. Long expanses of dry, dead grass, chain link fences, and barbed wire. Was it electrified? She wouldn't doubt it. But in contrast with the scenery below, it seemed almost careless and dangerous; a perfect setup to an unexpected brushfire. What a nightmare that would be.

The trail up to the main gates was a long one. Her shoes crunched against the gravel, and in that moment she noticed just how small she really was: a lone speck of color among the dull and dreary. There were a few lost syllables in the air, as khaki clad guards made their rounds about the premises. Her eyes lingered upon the tall towers behind the barriers; she wondered if there was anyone up there on duty today. Most likely so. Had anyone ever broken out of this place before, or even attempted it? If she were in there, she sure wouldn't bother trying.

She stood before the gate, pressing the button and managing to explain herself without skipping words, though she could've afforded to. The attendant behind the control booth must've been bored of her prattling, as it only took a couple of seconds for the machinery to awaken and pull back the gate. She slipped inside, trying not to trip over her feet.

It was as if there were an invisible target painted upon her back, as she took a few seconds to compose herself, the faintest beads of sweat building up at the corners of her temples. She couldn't help but feel like she were being watched. Those on duty must've been quite startled to see a face like hers entering their compound. Then, she reached out in front of her, to open one of the the glass lobby double doors. It closed behind her with a soft click, and she gazed over the plain décor with bated breath.

There was another entrance ahead of her-was this a waiting area? No, there weren't any chairs. There was a door to her left, though. It was made of thick wood, or metal. There was a small window in the top, with another larger one in the wall beside it. It opened and closed by pushing a switch to the side and sliding it across. Peering inside just briefly, she saw that it was obviously an office of sorts. Who did it belong to? There was a camera in the corner by the second door. Maybe this was a security booth?

Gulping quietly, she shuffled past, trying not to look suspicious as she wrapped her tiny hand around the bar handle of the next door, and pushed down. It swung in with a distinct creak, and she gripped a bit tighter at her purse strap with her free hand, in an effort to hide the startled jump that had threatened to come forth. Once more, her eyes adjusted to the new scenery.

There was a desk to her left, with a thick top and rounded corners. A small array of chairs sat to her right, with a shelf against the wall containing a few displays of various colored pamphlets. The lights in the ceiling seemed to shiver as she stepped in, taking note of another camera and a curving mirror by the third door. The reflection always served to remind her of the distorted figures in the funhouse glass.

She'd gone to a fair once with her older brother, back when she was still in elementary. It had been a strange experience; she'd wondered if there really was a girl on the other side of the glass, and if she truly looked like that. As a child, the thought had frightened her, just a bit. She hadn't wanted to linger very long, clutching onto Sora's hand tightly with her chubby child fingers, hoping that the warped girl wouldn't pay a visit to her dreams.

Behind the counter was an older, balding male in a crisp uniform, a cross between an office worker and a guard. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, as if mulling over the reasons a female like her could possibly have to enter a place like this. Pushing his thick rimmed glasses up upon the bridge of his nose, he tapped his pen against the thin stack of papers before him. "Can I help you...?"

She hoped that she didn't stumble on her words this time around as she fixed him with what was meant to be a cordial smile. "Umm, I'm here to-to visit?"

He blinked. "Visit?" Well, it wasn't a criminal offense. "Visit who? Where? And are you scheduled?"

She nodded. "Y-yes, I called...earlier this week. I'm on the list?" Sliding her purse down from her shoulder, she opened it to pull out the paper with all the necessary information written in neat characters. As she handed it over, the name of her charge passed from her lips. Visibly, the attendant stiffened, pausing for a few seconds before finally taking the sheet and reading it with a furrowed brow. After another few seconds of silence, he passed it back to her.

"Alright. You can go on. Talk to the receptionist at the next desk-I'll unlock the door. They'll look you over again, have you fill out the sign-in sheet, and go through the security checkpoints." Nodding, she put the paper away, and the man pressed a button on the inside of his desk, where she couldn't see. A light lit up over the next entrance-how had she not noticed that when walking in?-as the alarm buzzed and the door slowly opened. Not wanting to waste his time, she hurriedly scuttled through. A narrow hallway lay presented before her, with no discernible doorways in sight.

The door closed behind her with another click, and she had to step forwards to avoid having her skirt catch in the frame. Letting out a soft sigh, she made her way down carefully, until the hallway widened at last and she finally caught sight of another desk to her right, along with more chairs across from it. A fourth door was behind it and a pair of guards were stationed just a foot beyond it, visible through the wide plexiglass window. There was also a tall device that resembled an open doorway, minus the covering, as well as another desk, though smaller in size. And at the very end of the room, another entryway. She figured it was the security checkpoint, leading on to the main floors.

The woman at the desk, a round-faced female of middle age with a perpetual frown, looked her over in mild interest. "Visitor, eh? You're a new one." She reached down, shoving a clipboard across the tabletop. "Here. Sign, date and add the info of who you're here to see. Then, I'll run you through the system." She'd already filled out the main necessary paperwork when she'd first applied for visitation rights. Still, this place was definitely no joke. The closest she'd been to prison was what she saw in books, movies and TV. But they rarely took the time to make mention of details like these.

Seating herself in one of the plastic chairs, she carefully read down the line, looking to find the blank spot; it wasn't too hard to locate. It seemed that very few people, if any, ever came out this way. Did most of the inmates here simply not have families, or...

_Do their relatives not want anything to do with them?_ This thought sent a small chill through her body, lingering along her spine. To distract herself, she mulled over the fact that she hadn't seen any clocks in this place so far. How did everyone keep time? They must all have to have worn watches. It was the only way, unless there were computers set up behind those counters, too...most likely.

Once she was finished, she stood up and handed it back to the woman. She read it over, eyes widening slightly-the female had to wonder if this poor soul had any idea of what she was getting into. Prison visits were one thing, death row was another. And of all the names she could have listed, she had to grab that one.

"Okay, let me make sure this all checks out." In one corner of her mind, the receptionist was hoping that it would come back negative, and the girl before her would be revealed as nothing more than some crazy fanatic. They'd gotten those before. But alas, when she punched in the information, it came back as valid. The girl was indeed, on the visitor's list. In fact, she was the only name on the list. How could such a sweet young thing be associated with someone like that? It boggled the mind.

"Alright. I'll get you your visitor's pass. After that, you go through this door-" she motioned to her right, "-and talk to the guards. They'll pat you down, send you through, and then you'll be on your way." _And may the gods help you, hon...you're gonna need it._ The redhead bowed, letting out a mumbled "Thank you". The woman did not respond as she searched for the clip-on card.

Handing it across the counter, the receptionist pressed another hidden button on her side of the table, and as before, the door swung open automatically. The female gave her a last wave as she passed through, this time making sure to be away from the entrance before it closed again. Once was enough to teach her otherwise. She locked eyes with the pair of guards who were still standing by the next doorway; they seemed genuinely surprised that she'd been permitted through. But upon seeing her pass and hearing her story, their surprise faded to a solemn resignation, taking care of the search and scan quickly and effectively.

"Okay. We'll be leading you to the elevator, and then dropping you off at the security station on the upper level. They'll take over from there. Just listen to their instructions, and follow them accurately." Again the girl nodded, both hands clasped in front of her tightly as she stepped aboard the elevator. They'd taken away her purse shortly after beginning the search, for safety's sake. "Trust us, you don't wanna know what some of these guys are in for. We don't take chances around here." That was how they'd phrased it.

She'd gulped, saying nothing as she replayed the words in her head, the doors closing and the elevator steadily going up to the selected floor. The inside was plain silver, metal walls surrounding her with a control panel on one side and a list of rules and operations behind a plastic plaque on the other. What had she gotten herself into?

The ride up was made in silence, the guards not bothering to address the reasons as to her visit, and the female in question not feeling her usual cheerful inhibition to try and strike up some sort of conversation. How would it go, anyway? _"So, how have your days been?"_

"_The usual. When we're not standing around for hours on end, we're dealing with the care and management of violent loonies who are set to die as soon as the government can get their asses in order about the dates."_ Yeah. Real scintillating discussion, there. It just came across in her mind as patronizing and utterly pointless. And she was the one who was prone to such babble!

With a soft ding, the elevator stopped, doors sliding open to reveal a darkened hallway, save for the line of single bulb lights above, and the row of shuttered windows higher up upon the right wall, over the next doorway. But the sunlight outside was minute, and barely filtered in through the slits to the stone cold ground below. The bulbs were out too, so most of the setting was in shadow. She tried not to let her hesitance show through her motions, as she followed the guards to the next room.

"Alright. This is where we leave you. They'll take you past the cells, to the visitor's area." Giving her brief nods of acknowledgement, the pair headed back towards the shaft, to return to their duty below. Her attention was now focused on the duo that stood before her. They were much more heavily garbed than the first lot. She caught a quick glimpse of what were probably batons, folded up in holsters that rested upon their hips. The new guards, both men as well, surveyed her cautiously.

"Follow us. Do not lag or linger behind. Do not comment on whatever you may see or hear. The last thing we need is this miserable lot getting into a frenzy over some visitor, much less a female. They just see it as fresh meat. Got it?" She offered her compliance in the form of a soft "Okay", and the trek began.

The atmosphere was stiff and frozen, and even under her long sleeves and swishing skirt she could feel the sensation of goosebumps cropping up on her arms and legs. Her footsteps seemed too loud for her liking, as they made their way up a short staircase, and along two rows-one to either side-of bolted steel doors with thin slits of windows. These were the level's cells.

She didn't slow down, didn't say a single word as they made their way through. She didn't react when a strangled wail arose from behind one of the doors, though truthfully she'd wanted to jump out of her skin. Horror movies had nothing on the brutalities of life. Heck, the majority of them were darn near pleasant compared to this!

Eventually, they reached the end of the line. The cells went on down a side path, while they continued straight ahead. A line of new doors greeted her, about ten in all, five to a side before reaching a dead end. They were all labeled with the same name, just different numbers:

'Visitation Room'

"This one. To your left, please." Opening a door marked with the number fifteen, one guard held the entrance, while the other led her inside the illuminated room. The walls were a glaring white, while the floor was speckled grey tile. In front of her was a black plastic chair, with a small strip of wood, like a mini desktop, jutting out from the wall a foot away from it, again to the left, along with two angled sides blocking it in. There was what appeared to be a corded telephone connected to one of those sides, and as she drew closer she could see yet another sheet of plexiglass separating her side from the one before it.

The guards took their places beside her, a few inches back for privacy, or so she assumed. "You may sit." As she took a step closer towards the chair, her eyes finally caught what lay beyond that resilient divider. They widened drastically, and her heart almost leapt out from her chest with the intensity of its beats. Her pulse was pounding out a rhythm that vaguely reminded her of music class in high school. With trepidation that she could only hope wasn't evident in her gaze, she sat down, to take in fully the other figure across from her, arms folded over broad chest and blue eyes scanning her in both surprise and irritation. Another two guards stood behind him.

Delicate fingers reached to her right, picking up the phone from its cradle, and slowly bringing it to her ear. After a few moments, the male sighed in muted annoyance, before picking up the one on his end. The girl felt her mouth go dry. What should she say? Was she expected to speak first?

He broke the silence, unexpectedly. "_So_. I got hauled outta my room after a nice breakfast, about to enjoy a nice nap under the covers, just to sit up here for who knows how long and see _your_ mug. Got sick of writin' that shit all the time then, eh?"

She swallowed. A simple greeting felt like it weighed a ton on her strangled tongue. "Hello again...Grimmjow-san."

The male snorted, looking away from her as he picked at the edge of a paper placed in front of him on the desk. His azure eyes scanned impatiently over the typed words, settling at last on a name scribbled in tidy characters at the bottom. His gaze narrowed.

Her. It was _her_. That human worm who just wouldn't leave him the hell alone. The name practically glared up at him, as if daring him to say it aloud.

'Inoue Orihime'

**A/N: And so ends chapter four. At long last, our two leads have made contact! But, how will this first visit after so many years pan out...? You'll see in the next update.**

**Sorry if it was a bit boring here-I guess I was trying to make sure I didn't miss anything while writing the prison introduction sequence. I admit, I had fun w/the details of Orihime's journey. It was interesting, to me, imagining her as an adult instead of a youth. How some things change, but others don't.**

**As always, all feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Next time: the long-awaited visit between Orihime and Grimmjow. Will things progress smoothly? If not, who will** **snap first? What sorts of secrets are lying beneath the surface? **

**=^.^=**


	5. Face To Face

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Face To Face**

As per usual, there were no clocks to be seen anywhere in the confines of either room. Neither figure knew what time it was, or how many minutes had passed since they'd first been seated across from each other. It could have been an eternity for all they could tell. Orihime was doing her best not to fidget, one hand resting in her lap while the other kept a sturdy, if somewhat shaky grip upon the phone.

On the other side, Grimmjow looked like he was ready to end the connection at any time. Who on Earth had given this woman permission to see him? Surely it couldn't have been himself! It was bad enough when she'd been sending those blasted letters, but at least he hadn't had to face her! Now that he was here? There was no escaping that silver doe-eyed gaze. It bored into him like a laser. He still couldn't believe that he'd honestly bothered to speak to her upon arrival, though it most definitely wasn't considered a proper greeting. He could take solace in that fact.

After a few more unchecked minutes of tense quiet, Orihime heard the shifting of footsteps and a faint cough. Obviously, the guards were getting bored just standing around while they played staring contests. She'd come this far; the man that had haunted her dreams since high school now sat before her, able if nothing else to hear her voice. And after that particular introduction, she wasn't expecting him to open up and address her again. So, it was on her shoulders to make the next move.

"Umm...i-it's been awhile?" God, how stupid could she get? Hello, Captain Obvious! That was one of the very reasons why she'd set out here today: she'd wanted to see him, since they hadn't had genuine contact in at least a decade! He fixed her with a sharp glare, free arm now lying on the tabletop, fingers drumming slowly at the wood. She followed their motions unconsciously with her eyes.

"No shit, _Princess_." She flinched at the harsh emphasis he placed on the moniker. "You come here t'give me a belated school lesson? Newsflash: I didn't care then, and I don't care now." He leaned back in his seat. "If you were gonna waste my time the least you could've done was fucking be up front about it." Orihime felt her heart clench.

"That wasn't my intention." Although flustered, her voice remained soft. "I wanted to-to see you, Grimmjow-san...you didn't answer any of my letters." It was just one log after another; more fuel for his fire. He smirked bitterly.

"What, were you expecting me to play pen-pal? I threw 'em out. Every. Last. One." His eyes seemed to gleam a bit brighter at the hint of rejection that crept into her features. "I tore them up, and tossed 'em with the daily garbage collection. Got no room or time for shit like that. All you did was feed the local dumps." He now paused, to pick at his ear. As crushed as Orihime felt at hearing his admission-though she'd be lying if she hadn't figured his answer would run along those lines-she refused to give in. This was the moment she had been waiting for! She was going to make it worth something!

"But you did...read them?" He stared at her, as if trying to decide whether she was purposefully playing dumb, or certifiably stupid. As he did so, he couldn't help but allow his gaze to roam over her, though with as little movement as was possible.

Her hair had gotten much longer since they'd last been face-to-face. At least, he thought it had. Vaguely, he recalled seeing her in that hospital, once-though it could've been a dream, brought on by the meds. But the glaring copper shade seemed too vivid in the memory. How could she care for it all? It struck him as an unnecessary pain in the ass, even if the style did suit her. Those stupid barrettes were glinting just behind her bangs, now loose and free to frame her heart-shaped face. She was still just as slender and curvy as always, full bust hidden beneath a sweater that was meant to keep attention to a minimum, he supposed, but only served to increase it, seeing as it was form fitting.

Those pastel colors were burning his retinas. She couldn't choose something like red or black, or even sky blue, for crying out loud? The broad had been the epitome of feminine way back when, and apparently still was. His eyes lingered on her full, pink lips that she was doing her very best not to chew out of nerves. He held back a scoff, entertaining the thought of them dripping with thin trails of ruby red blood. It would stand out beautifully against her pale pallor.

And those eyes. Those goddamn grey eyes. Watery and misty, always looking at him like she were waiting for the sun, or a fucking rainbow. What the hell did she see through those twisted peepers of hers when she looked at him, anyway? It made him sick, to be scrutinized in such a manner! Worse than any of the other looks he'd gotten throughout his life. It was like she was _expecting_ something from him, of him. Something he didn't know, but was certain he couldn't give.

He pounded a fist against the desk, startling Orihime from her confused wonderings. "Oi. Unless you got something to say, I'm outta here. Got better shit to be doin' than fucking around with you." Again, the sting. His words and actions always knew how to find the shortest path to her heart. Breathing in, she tried again.

"Have you...kept in contact with anyone else? At all?" Her questions just seemed to get weaker and weaker. She was grabbing at straws here! But she'd do anything to keep the male from turning away; keep him from turning his back on her like before. Even if she wound up crushed underfoot, choking on her feelings.

Grimmjow let out a raucous laugh, throwing his head back in a display of pure amusement. Orihime felt her ears ringing, but made no move to pull the phone away. When was the last time she'd heard him laugh, like this? Her mind traveled back, back to the days of lockers and corridors and uniforms and lectures; of short grey skirts and red bows and bells and books. _When he was about to...to hurt someone..._

As Grimmjow now tried to catch his breath, Orihime surveyed his softly chuckling form through the glass. Had he gotten more muscular? It was possible. The scars on his body had increased in number-this she could tell, even from a distance. It wasn't like the prison garb did much to hide them, anyway; the white top was ripped, hanging open over his torso. He'd probably done that alteration himself. She could just barely make out the hemline of his pants below his navel. Above that, there was a prominent rounded scar on his abdomen; it had come from a puncture wound, most likely. Perhaps a sharp-ended pipe, or a spear? It was too wide to be a mere stab wound from a blade. She shivered involuntarily at the images.

Did he still have that tattoo near his lower back, as well? That number she'd never deciphered the meaning of. He hadn't ever bothered to explain it to her, that much she knew. Would it be invasive of her to ask about it now? She was lacking for topics of discussion, but...

She'd caught brief glimpses of it back in their schooldays, on the rare occasion that he'd bothered to attend certain classes, in particular P.E. And although she'd never consider getting it done herself, Orihime had to wonder how it felt, that half-mask protruding against his lower face. How had it been attached to his skin in the first place? She wasn't an expert on body modifications in any manner, but...it seemed like it would hurt beyond the usual piercing or inking.

By this point, Grimmjow was now back to his normal composure, barely restrained wrath held in check by the bitter grin that twisted his lips. It magnified the appearance of the fragment to his right, giving him the air of a Grim Reaper with a feline aura. He was just waiting to pounce upon her, lest she slip up and offer him her throat, metaphorically.

The strangest part, though? She couldn't bring herself to fear the action, or the consequences. All she felt was that driving desire for contact, acknowledgment, attention on his end. Not even the deepest reaches of her imagination could concoct a fable this dark and jaded. Was she sick, or simply misguided of her own free will?

"I'm on fucking death row. I don't give a rat's ass about friends, family, the whole lot of it." He snorted, running his left hand through his shocking locks. It caused them to stand up further, but Orihime's eyes never left his as he leaned closer to the barrier dividing them. Her heart was halfway up her throat as he lifted a finger to point at her. Behind him, the guards stiffened noticeably, but did not step forwards to stop him.

"And that goes for you, too. I don't give a damn whether you're alive, dead, on another planet, getting your brains fucked out-" and there was a brief pause- "drugged up, or sitting in your little office, filling out all those forms for your rich patients." Orihime gulped. "Get it through your thick head, _Princess_: there. Is nothing. Between us." He sat back, smug look in place as he crossed his arms once more, waiting for the inevitable breakdown to occur in the female before him.

Grimmjow's words hurt. This Orihime couldn't deny. They hit her square on, like a bullet from a gun. To any normal person, such things shouldn't have mattered, namely because no normal person would be seated in a prison wasting time and speeches on the figure staring back at her, like a cruel puppeteer. He may have been caged, but between the two of them, he held the strings. That's how it felt to her, at least. Again she bit her lips, trying to find a response that wouldn't allow her heartache to slip through.

_Huh...she's stronger than I thought. Either that, or she's a damn good actress. I'll give her that._ Grimmjow continued surveying the girl before him, noting that although her features bore a silent shock, she didn't tremble or sniffle. Her focus seemed entirely fixated on her next course of action-he could practically hear the gears turning in that airy head of hers! It was an almost amusing image, until he remembered that he didn't want her in his thoughts, period. So the faint chortle was stifled by his usual indifferent hatred.

How much longer did he have to sit through this? Was she really going to stick around until _he_ 'broke down' and gave into idle chit-chat? She should know him by now: such reactions were impossible on his end. Normal human functions had nowhere to fit in amongst the bloodletting and destructive nature of his being. Then again, she wasn't exactly a shining beacon of sanity herself, seeking him out after all this time and trying to...to...what? Reach out? Toy with him? Domesticate him? He really had no way to phrase it.

As he struggled to make heads or tails of the redhead, he felt a sudden twinge in his left shoulder. That stinking scar was flaring up again. Without hesitation, he reached up to rub, then scratch at it. It figured that _this_ one would choose to act up, in front of _her_. Out of all the wounds he'd received, none lingered on so frequently and pointedly as this one did. It had healed up, relatively the same as the others-hell, better than some of them, in fact! So why all this friction under the scar tissue?

The gesture did not go unnoticed by Orihime. She knew what lay under the jagged sleeve of his top, better than anyone else. She watched his brows furrow in momentary concentration, as his thick fingertips dragged against the fabric, desperate to dig into the regrown flesh beneath. Her mouth opened, and the words had come tumbling out, unmistakeable and clear before they registered in her hearing or conscious mind.

"Does it hurt often, Grimmjow-san? And when it does, what do you see?"

His gaze snapped up, blue eyes now shadowed and steely as he regarded her with a new loathing. She didn't shrink back, but if looks could kill she'd have been dead and buried right then and there. His fist slammed down against the tabletop with such force that it nearly gave way; there was a definite imprint in the wood as he stood up roughly, phone cord stretching beyond its limit.

The chair wobbled as it was forced against the tile behind him. Now the guards were at his sides, ready to apply restraint at any moment. But Grimmjow's attention was solely on the small female below him, staring up beyond the glass. He spat out a reply through gritted teeth.

"I don't owe you shit. Fuck you, and stay the hell outta my business. Go back to playing Frankenstein, bitch." This time, he didn't bother to apply any nicknames, as he threw the phone receiver at the cradle and whirled around, stomping towards the door with fists clenched at his sides. Orihime didn't need the guard behind her to tap at her shoulder gently; she'd gotten the message perfectly.

The visit was over.

Ushered out by her companions, Orihime cast a brief glance over her shoulder, just as the main door closed. She saw Grimmjow being led through the divider, into what had been her side of the room. He was still seething, and even from a distance she could recognize the fury in his eyes and features. It should have been enough to wrench her gaze away: the thought of being at the mercy of that powerful man, unable to fight back or even resist. She had set him off. She knew this. The guards were still hovering around him, pulling out the handcuffs and cutting off his vehement curses with quick actions and blunt words.

But the fear would not rear its head. If anything, she felt a new, fresh sense of...euphoria? Accomplishment? It wasn't that she wanted to make him angry, far from it. But seeing his reaction to that simple statement-it was as if she'd touched upon something she wasn't supposed to see. What was he trying to hide, to hold back? Did she really have so much of an impact on him?

She looked forwards once again, and had to swerve swiftly before she collided with an oncoming corner. It was definitely something to mull over from now and the next visit. Which wouldn't be happening until she had a better grasp of what to talk about with him.

As the metal cuffs clicked into place around his wrists, securing his arms behind his back, all Grimmjow could see was that face. That delicate face, so unabashed and bold as petal pink lips parted to speak without hesitance. How much was different from their youth-and yet, how much hadn't changed one iota.

She was still the same outspoken, bubbly, bleeding heart she'd been in the past. But there was a distinct shift in how he felt towards it and her presence then, and now. He couldn't identify the reason why. And it was eating him up inside.

"Alright, big guy. Get moving." Growling under his breath at the shove against his spine, Grimmjow made his way towards the exit, following the other guard as he punched in the code to open the door. His blue eyes lingered upon the beeping buttons. _1-3-7-2-2-1-4._ Another string of numbers he'd never have a chance to use.

As they marched him back towards his cell, he shook his head, glare still firmly in place as he stared down the hallway. In no time at all they'd reached his room, and he played out the sequence of digits in his head as the guard pressed the pad accordingly.

She was definitely _not_ a normal person. In another life, this concept may have fascinated him. He'd have liked to get her alone, behind locked doors, and figure out exactly what made her tick. Down to every strand of copper-colored hair, every inch of milky soft skin, every last drop of rose red blood. Find out just how far that voice of hers extended, how high he could make it rise-or how low it could drop, in huskily, hurriedly whispered prayers and pleas. Find out whether she tasted as sweet as she looked, like human candy. Such fun he could have had tearing her apart!

But not now. Not in _this_ life. All he wanted at this moment was to never see or hear the name 'Inoue Orihime' ever again.

**A/N: And so ends chapter five: the first contact. How was it?**

**I figured that, even after all this time, based on who he is, Grimmjow wouldn't exactly be jumping for joy to see Orihime again, mainly b/c he figures her attention to be comprised of some form of pity, which I can't see him accepting. There's a LOT of twisted history between them, which will be revealed in future installments. For now though, you'll have to wait and see.**

**We do know that Orihime's presence has an effect on him, though. This much is apparent. But what ARE her reasons for visiting him in the first place?**

**As always, all feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Next time: some down time w/Orihime, and a familiar face stops in for a chat. Later.**

**=^.^=**


	6. Girls Room

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Girls Room**

"Darn it...pancake batter sure is hard to scrape off...at least, when it's burnt."

It was a new morning in Karakura Town, and the sun was shining down like a beacon, a spotlight trained upon the tiny space encompassed among the other cities and residences. Today was nothing new; people were making their way to and fro among the streets and sidewalks. It was the usual hustle and bustle of life.

In the small apartment of Inoue Orihime, said girl was currently engaged in the process of washing the dishes that had accumulated in her sink after a fulfilling breakfast. Well, most of it had been. She'd been preparing pancakes and fruit salad, complete with the extra array of unusual toppings and condiments, only to be distracted by the rapid twittering of the birds outside her window. A pair of the feathered creatures were engaged in a vicious tug-of-war with an unfortunate worm, and she'd been blinded by the simple brutality of nature-too long to realize that her leek pancakes, which had been cooking just fine up until that point, were now beginning to smolder and blacken.

She'd rushed back in and turned off the burner to her stove, but the damage was done. With a sigh of resignation, the redhead had been forced to pry the once fluffy mixed creations from the pan, watching them flop onto the ceramic plate with a dull sizzling thud. At least with the syrup and peanut butter, the bitterness wasn't as prominent, though it wasn't really recommended to consume burnt foods on a regular basis. This wouldn't have bothered her so much if it hadn't already happened more than once before within the last two weeks, scattered between all three of her meals.

Now, as she continued scrubbing and brushing, all Orihime could focus on was her inability to keep her attention on one subject, a thought which in and of itself was a unique conundrum. She was a daydreamer; that, she wouldn't deny, but recently it had been getting out of control. Even at work, it was starting to interfere with her duties as a nurse. And that wasn't just problematic, but downright dangerous depending on whom or what she was dealing with at the moment. You couldn't operate medical machinery or take a patient's temperature when your thoughts were a million miles away.

The warm water washed over her hands, as she chewed her lower lip absently. She knew the reason for the lack of concentration, even if she didn't want to address it with a word or thought. It wouldn't go away simply because she chose to ignore its existence. She'd had to learn that the hard way about many things in life while growing up. And, it seemed that she was still learning.

Her past visit with Grimmjow still weighed heavily on her mind. Sometimes, she'd have dreams about it-how it could've gone better, or worse. She couldn't say that either option was really better than the other or the outcome, which only helped to fuel her discontent. It certainly could have been handled more expertly, but even after all the trip-ups and stumbles she'd taken, Orihime still felt that tugging at her heart, and heard that nagging, nudging little voice in the deepest recesses of her mind. Again, it told her to go to him, that perfect beginnings were unrealistic and that he hadn't tried to take a swing at her head at least, so why should any of it be a deterrent to her return?

By this point, the pan had been scrubbed clean and then some. Drying it off with the nearby towel, she placed it in the dish rack and after washing her hands, proceeded out to the parlor. Now what? She didn't have work today-it was a Sunday, one of her only days off, but she really didn't feel like going out or roaming the town like usual. Her most common haunts seemed foreign and unappealing to her current state of mind, as she seated herself upon the couch, watching the sunlight stream in through the window across from her.

Based on how that first visit had gone, Orihime should have taken that reaction as a sign that she'd be better off keeping to herself and the life she'd built up; playing nurse and nanny to those in need who visited her floor at the medical office. She should keep to her own little childish imagination, where everything was rainbows and sunshine and flowers and smiling faces and candy and furry creatures and-and...

Except she couldn't. She really couldn't. It wasn't as if her imagination had stopped functioning in the years that has passed between high school and now. It was merely that the subjects that came to mind for interest and scrutiny had changed. Now, her fields of flowers and vibrant technicolor had become darker and wilted. It was as if something were purposely blocking out her sun, grabbing her chin and guiding her gaze through the shadows, pointing out a garish crack in the scenery. A gaping hole that she'd never taken notice of, until now.

Something was missing. And it was destroying her very being not to know what it was; not to have it by name, if only for a moment. The more she tried to return to her past, the bigger the gap became.

But who could she turn to? What was causing this discord inside in the first place? Could she trust anyone to really understand where she was coming from? Or would they dismiss her as making a mountain out of a molehill; searching for attention as a child in a woman's body, who just had to learn to be an adult? She had grown up. Far sooner than she'd have liked to, in fact. And in more ways than-

Her musings were interrupted then, however, by the sound of a phone. Her cell was ringing. Genuinely curious as to who was calling her so early in the day, Orihime rose up and headed down the hall towards her bedroom to answer it. Picking up the small plastic device in her hand, she flipped it open and pressed the 'talk' key. "Hello, Inoue Orihime speaking."

"Yo, Orihime! Long time no chat! How are you doing out there?"

The redhead's heart swelled with happiness and gratitude. "Tatsuki-chan!" It had been ages since she'd heard any word from her dearest childhood friend. She clutched the phone closer to her ear, a true smile stretching across her face. "How are you?"

"Heh. Same as always. We're not in school anymore, Orihime. You don't have t'keep dropping the honorifics, you know." It was as if she could see her friend standing there beside her, familiar grin in place as she reached out to ruffle the hair upon her head. Even if it was just in her mind's eye, Orihime had to giggle. She wondered what Tatsuki looked like now. Was her hair still in that pixie cut, or had she let it grow out a bit, for once? Was she leaner and taller, or still at eye-level in height?

"I'm sorry, Tatsuki-cha-um, yeah." Walking to her bed, Orihime sat down on the edge, free hand resting in her lap as she played with the end of her shorts. "So, where are you calling from?"

"Eh, the lobby. Just finished some heavy training at the gym in the hotel. I've got about three days left 'til my next match. Man, they don't let up! I guess it's good that I got all that 'practice' in while growin' up, huh? The lessons paid off pretty well, too." She chuckled at the comment, and Orihime nodded, even if the female on the other end couldn't see it.

After high school, Tatsuki had gone to college, same as her. But while Orihime's studies had focused on the medical, her friend's had been far more physical. Being skilled at martial arts and the like, it hadn't been a surprise when Tatsuki was tapped to join the names on a relatively well-known team. Now, she was traveling the country, taking on new training regiments and opponents as she gradually made her way up the women's ranks.

As much joy as Orihime felt for her friend though, being able to pursue her dreams, she couldn't help but feel the pain of separation. After all, they'd been best friends since she was thirteen; Tatsuki had been one of the major reasons for her being able to cope with the loss of her elder brother, as well as living alone and the demands of high school. When she'd left Karakura to go on the road, Orihime had wound up crying, even though her tomboyish buddy had done all she could to turn those tears of sadness into tears of laughter.

"_It's not like I'm never coming back! And you know that every time I win, I'll be thinkin' of you and all the guys at home, right? They'll probably start joking 'bout throwing down with a 'real champion' the next time I'm here."_ Wiping her eyes, Orihime had given her friend a tight bear hug before watching her finish loading up her luggage, board the bus and zoom off down the road.

"Yeah..." As the redhead played with one of the hanging charms on her phone, she was brought back to the present by the sudden interruption of Tatsuki's prominent tones. "Hey, don't zone out on me now, girl! What's new? How you holding up?"

Dropping the charm, Orihime cleared her throat softly. "Oh, I'm-I'm doing okay. Work is going well. Nothing really exciting going on here-" _Unless you count going to visit a former bully-slash-gangster, now incarcerated on death row?_ "-on my end, just the usual."

"Uh-huh." Tatsuki didn't seem to believe her. There was a hint of playful questioning to her tone, as she asked her next inquiry. "Met anyone interesting lately?" At this, Orihime felt her cheeks begin to burn.

"Umm...no? Not that I can think of?" She knew what Tatsuki was trying to get at. Even if she didn't see it herself, it was apparent: she did attract quite the amount of attention. It was only obvious for her friend to be curious as to whether or not she'd actually acted on any of the offers she'd received in the past. Of course she hadn't. But that didn't mean the interest wasn't there.

"Really now? No one?" Tatsuki sounded almost disappointed. "Well, what about Ichigo? How's he doing?" Orihime shook her head, glad that her friend couldn't see her reaction.

"He's fine. Still working at the police department. Still as protective as always. He and Kuchiki-san are still together, too." Kuchiki Rukia had been another one of their friends and classmates, a transfer student when they were fifteen. She'd always gotten along well with Ichigo, even though most of the time, they were arguing or cutting up.

When it was discovered that she'd lost her lodgings, he'd wound up offering her a place to stay with him, his father and two younger sisters. Rukia had taken to the new dwellings quite well, becoming close to Ichigo's family and even helping out at the family clinic every once in a while. When her older brother Byakuya had finally moved down to Karakura, she had gotten a new residence to live, but still kept up the close contact with the Kurosaki clan.

When she was younger, Orihime had, at one point, thought herself to be in love with Ichigo. And who wouldn't be? He was physically strong and strong willed, with memorable looks-a shock of spiky orange-blond hair and golden-brown eyes, as well as a lanky but muscular frame. Honorable and quiet, but engaging when the moment was right, she'd been drawn to him. It probably helped, in a twisted way, that his family's clinic had been the closest place to bring her injured brother after his accident...

Of course, time had passed, and all parties had grown up. Orihime's feelings of love had mellowed into ones of admiration: she loved who Ichigo was, and wanted to be like him, to a certain degree. But she wasn't in love with him. And she'd seen his relationship with Rukia coming from a mile away. Now, while he worked at the local police station, Rukia had a job at his family's clinic, second-in-command under his father.

"I still can't believe it. The strawberry and the shrimp got hitched. I guess it's not that unexpected, what with their history and all..." Orihime could see her friend shrugging her shoulders, an expression of mild bemusement upon her face. "I always thought you had a thing for him, though. What happened with that?"

"Ah..." She didn't really like having to explain this sort of stuff. Daydreams and women's intuition be damned, when it came directly to expressing her own feelings, Orihime was a very sheltered person. "I guess I just...moved on? Besides, he and Kuchiki-san really go well together. She's doing a really good job of helping out his dad at the clinic now." The last two sentences were hurriedly added on, but they seemed to do the trick. "So she had a knack for medical, as well. Huh. And here I thought she'd be heading off to a fancy private school, what with that militant brother of hers breathing down her neck twenty-four seven. Oh, well."

Now she could see Tatsuki stretching, before leaning back against the wall, allowing herself to slide down until she reached the floor with a faint thump. "So, anything else happening on your end, 'Hime?"

Orihime was at a loss for words. She'd been hoping that after this last round of conversation, the topic would have returned to Tatsuki and her life on the road, but no such luck. How could she possibly respond? "Well I, umm...oh, I started a new book?" she finished weakly.

"Come on, Orihime." Now Tatsuki sounded a bit tired. "I'm not dumb. We've known each other for over ten years already! There's something you're not telling me. I can feel it in your energy." Her friend had always been perceptive and in-tune to her emotions and general mind state, but she'd had no idea that it extended over the phone. Or maybe it was just that they truly hadn't talked in so long? Taking a deep breath, Orihime tried to figure out how she was going to get around this one.

"Well...okay, I have a question for you." She heard a brief shuffling on the other end of the line, meaning that Tatsuki had sat up. "Yeah? What is it?" There was now a note of concern in her voice. Orihime didn't like that-she really didn't want her friend to worry. There were far more important things for her to be focusing on. Though, considering her current predicament...it was reassuring, to know that she had the full attention of her closest friend. She did trust her.

But she still wasn't about to tell her every last detail, either.

"I was wondering...well, what do you do if-if you feel, like...a certain way, I guess, towards someone-but you're not sure if those feelings are, well...appropriate?" Well. That didn't sound awkward at all. Mentally, Orihime was slapping herself silly.

"'Appropriate'? What do you mean by that? Orihime, do you have a crush on someone?" Now, Tatsuki's tone was teasing. In regards to the situation she was referring to, the girl felt her cheeks flare up with heat. "N-no! Nothing like that, Tatsuki! I'm just...well, I mean-what if you have an 'interest' in someone, like a genuine curiosity, and you wanna reach out to them, but you're not sure if...if others would agree with you?"

Now the line was silent. Orihime could only begin to guess at what was going through Tatsuki's mind-was she going to approach the subject of 'relationships' again? That was when she heard the sound of a long sigh. She braced herself for the girl's answer.

"So, you're asking...what do you do if you wanna 'reach out' to someone who may not be considered 'acceptable' by those around you?" Orihime had to hold back a cheer. That was it, exactly! Thank goodness for Tatsuki putting her perceptiveness to work in a helpful way this time around! "Yes, that's it! I mean...what do you do?"

Again, the pause. She could imagine Tatsuki rubbing the back of her neck, or running a hand through her hair. "Honestly, 'Hime? It's up to you. I'm assuming that this isn't a hypothetical situation by the way you've phrased it, so I'm gonna answer as such. But the people who you want in your life are obviously there _because_ _you_ want them there. And yeah, it's true, we can make a whole lotta mistakes relating to that front." Orihime swallowed quietly.

"_But_. And I'm addressing this specifically to you, no one else or any other circumstance. If they mean something to you, then I'm guessing there's at least a speck of humanity in them. You're not stupid, and while you can be naïve, you're a better judge of character than the majority of folks I've seen. You have a good heart." She could practically see the smile on Tatsuki's face by this point. "So if you wanna be with 'em, I say go for it. I trust you. And you should trust yourself, hon." There was more shuffling. "And to anyone who says otherwise, it's really none of their goddamn business, anyway."

Orihime was smiling to herself, but there was still a tangled knot of confusion tied among her heartstrings as she heard Tatsuki cover the phone, followed by some muffled shouting. She came back on a second later.

"Alright, Orihime. Hope that I could be of some help there. You keep your head up, 'kay? Don't let anyone bring you down. I gotta go for now, but I'll call you again, first chance I get." Again, the invisible nod, followed by an "Okay. Take care, and good luck, Tatsuki!"

"You too, and thanks. Later." With that, the connection ended.

Placing the phone back on her desk, Orihime lay down upon her bed, feeling the thick comforter crumple beneath her body. Her fingers clutched at the blanket, tips pressing and clawing into the fabric. So many thoughts were whirling and swirling through her mind.

Tatsuki said to trust herself. To trust her feelings. So if that was the case, then she wasn't wrong in having visited Grimmjow. Nor was she wrong in wanting to visit him again. No matter what anyone would say if they actually knew the whole situation. She started chewing at her lower lip.

When _it_ had happened in high school though, she'd known that Tatsuki was going to freak out and worry herself sick. It was all too apparent when they'd finally been reunited, and she'd promptly been engulfed in a bone-crushing hug, followed by a string of thanks and curses, the latter aimed at those who'd been indirectly responsible for the whole incident. How would she feel then, if she knew _that's_ who she was talking about? That _he_ was the one she'd wanted to 'reach out' to?

Would she still tell Orihime to trust her judgment then?

Laying an arm over her now closed eyes, the redhead let out another sigh. She'd thought that life was supposed to be easier once you grew up. But if anything, it seemed more complicated and messy than being a teenager had. If she made a mistake this time, there was no one to save her. No one would be able to put her back together if the pieces fell apart.

Then again...how did she automatically know that it was a mistake? She wasn't a fortune teller. And no matter if the identity had been held back, Tatsuki _could_ have asked her to elaborate. But she didn't. She'd told Orihime to trust in herself and her judgment, and to ignore anyone else. It was about time she started standing on her own two feet!

And it wasn't like he could reach her from behind those cell walls...

Rolling over, Orihime drew up her legs, curling into a tight little ball. She didn't know. She just didn't know. But one thing was certain: she was going to visit him again. She _was_.

Just as soon as she'd regained her nerves. All of them, which were currently doing the cha-cha across her lower intestines.

**A/N: And that's it. The end of chapter six.**

**Basically, this is me trying to bring certain events from 'Bleach' to a more modern day, realistic setting. You can let me know how it turned out, whether it was believable or not. I was also trying to figure out what to do w/the other characters as well, and determine how much might've changed this far ahead in the story, minus the supernatural aspects. Again, all feedback is appreciated. Let me know if you like the characterization, too-I still worry a good deal about how that turns out w/every new update.**

**Bit by bit, new hints are being revealed, about Grimmjow and Orihime, and the fact that their history extends far deeper than first glance would show. It'll take a little while to get everything out in the open, but I did my best to make the trip an interesting and memorable one. Drop me a line if you like it, or think that things could be improved.  
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**Next time: more flashbacks w/Grimmjow. What new memories from his past will be dragged to the surface?**

**=^.^=**


	7. Invisible Kid

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Invisible Kid**

Sometimes, it felt really, really, _really_ bad to be the villain. But only sometimes.

As he sat in his cell with arms folded up per usual behind his head, lounging on his cot, Grimmjow wanted to smash the nearest object into oblivion, as the outside sounds of scuffling and screaming continued to filter in, even through the thick stone and metal. He was divided between wishing for soundproofed facilities and wanting the rest of those miserable fucks be able to hear him, should he so decide to snap. His fellow prisoners, too.

Another day, another vendetta. After being awoken to take care of morning hygiene and breakfast, he'd plowed on through, accepting the various activities and timeless nothing that made up his life. There was a 'therapy' session earlier, which had been a real hoot, as always. He had just sat there, as the older male with the thinning, slicked back hair and narrow glasses had talked at them for however long the interaction had run for. Forty-five minutes, an hour? He didn't keep track. There was no point.

'Talked_ at_'. Not '_to_'. That balding, stuttering motor-mouth had been treating them as if they were an audience of brain dead babies, giving them barely restrained smiles of contempt and mocking encouragement every time a question was posed or a hand was raised with an offered answer. Most of the guys that shared this building with him were too worn out to constantly care about the fact that they were being belittled, obvious or not, by every person that walked in and out of this place. But not him. He hadn't appealed, hadn't begged, hadn't cried or even batted an eye when they announced his sentence and slammed that door shut tight behind him. There was no fear or remorse.

But if he was going to live in this miserable hovel, then those who did come into contact with him would be forced to learn just how lucky they were that he was as chained up as this. Outside, there would've been no hesitation on his part to snap their necks, slit their throats, break their bones and shred their flesh with his blades and claws, bathing in the shower of fresh blood and carnage. The idea captivated his imagination like a dancing flame, just out of his reach. How he'd have loved to slam that talking head's face into the wooden desk until it was nothing more than a mess of dampened red and muscles and twisted metal frames with glass fragments shoved and crackling down from swollen, pierced eyes as the last tears disappeared with his existence.

Here Grimmjow sat now, bored and twitching. One of the inmates had just had a psychotic episode when the wheeled shower had been brought up to his cell, thus resulting in the current commotion outside his door. Now it would probably take a few extra hours before he'd get his turn at hygiene. Not that he was a clean freak or anything, but it did make for a good change of pace. Even if it wasn't on a regular basis. And the pulsing water could be vaguely enjoyable to stand under.

If he could forget those beady-eyed stares watching him as he stood, constantly interrupting his musings with their voices and commands to hurry up, as well as the basic shit that his day was comprised of, then yes. It was a relatively pleasant experience.

Still though, even with the promise of brief freedom in the form of a rolling stall, Grimmjow couldn't deny it: there was something off with his routine. There had been something off about it for a good while now, actually. For the last month or so. And he knew exactly what to blame it on, too.

His eyes narrowed. Not what-_who_.

Ever since that first-and hopefully last-visit she'd made to him, Inoue Orihime had been weighing on the forefront of Grimmjow's mind, whether he'd wanted her to or not. Everything about her made him sick, down to her sweet naivete and pastel wardrobe. And worst of all, she'd dared to invade his safe haven, his domain. She'd tried to squeeze her way into this world of slamming doors and buzzing buttons.

She'd tried to find a place for herself to call home, in the confines of his dark existence. And he hated it.

That saccharine, doll-like figure. Everything she represented was all that was contrary to his very being. She was like poison, wrapped in shiny paper and tied with a perfect bow. You didn't hesitate to tear off the cover and undo the ribbon, because you had no idea that danger could come in such an unassuming form. But once she was released, staring at you one-on-one, it was too late. The game had begun.

He growled, sitting up to grab his pillow and throw it at his feet. He refused. He refused to give in to those supposed 'charms'. He didn't give a shit about history or hospitals or whatever the hell was going on in that scatterbrain of hers. All he knew was himself. He didn't need anyone else, didn't want anyone else trying to take what he had worked so long and hard to craft from the ground up.

His life. His being. His very essence. All it took was a look, and those fleshy cockroaches would go running. It made him so proud.

But when she entered the picture...it didn't work. It just didn't work. She didn't flee. Her stance was unchanging as she'd sat before him, whether beyond the plexiglass or upon the dusty floor, arms and legs bound up tight. He looked at his pillow with a new loathing.

How could someone so soft and fragile be so resistant, to him of all things? She should have fled crying when he'd cussed her out! But he'd been the one to make the first move, and the last. He'd stood up, and stormed off like a petulant child. She'd been coaxed out by the guards, still as entranced by him as she'd been when she'd first arrived.

What was it about her that incited such rage in him? Was it her defiance to his very purpose? Was it her opposing appearance and values clashing against his? Was it simply that he couldn't get that silvery gaze out of his mind? Would he rather have seen her as a victim? If that was the case, then he'd have been better off just-

His fist landed against the pillow with a muffled thud. Again and again he struck, fury flowing in and out of his punches with every motion. It was soft-too soft for his liking, but he didn't care. It'd make for an interesting warm-up, in comparison to the wall. Which was going to be receiving his attentions soon enough.

How could such a girl be so brave before him, the Pantera? Had she no clue as to why he was in here in the first place? Was she simply that daft? Was she willingly ignorant, thinking that if she ignored all the 'bad parts' of him, she could somehow salvage what was left? Bullshit! He was rotten to the core! And he had plenty of proof to back up this fact, too. The body count was just one of those many wonderful factors involved.

_Fuck! She's not gonna be coming back...but the fact that she bothered showing up in the first place really pisses me off!_ That, and the screaming outside wasn't helping to improve his mood any. Standing up, he left the deflated pillow upon the cot, and turned his focus to the smooth expanse of hollow tiled wall across from him. Marching up, he swung out with his left fist.

The guards didn't encourage punching the walls here. Mainly because if left unchecked, it could result in broken bones-like that really mattered to him-and also, caused a lot of noise, which was considered a disturbance to the other prisoners. But Grimmjow had never been one to worry about others. So there was no point in starting now. He'd just keep slugging away, until either he couldn't feel his hands, or the guards had to come in and tell him to knock it off. Whichever came first.

But if he hadn't gotten his fill and the reprimand came along, he was still going to be enjoying a few more rounds. And those pansies were free to try and hold him back then. He was almost looking forward to being held down and subdued, if just to have a chance to unleash the aggression that lay bottled up inside, under layers of red hair and pale skin and grey eyes and soft tones and that same fucking memory on repeat.

One after another, the blows slammed into the cold stone, violence bouncing off the walls and door and ceiling. His knuckles were already starting to swell and redden from the force behind each punch, but still, he kept on. By now, the voices outside his cell were nothing more than the annoyance of a hovering fly, as Grimmjow allowed himself to get lost in the steadily building throbbing rising up from his fists to his elbows.

There was the faintest cry of irritation from a prisoner or two in the cells beside his own, but again, he didn't care. Another solid swing shook the foundation, a physical retaliation to the complaint, enough to silence the voice on the other side and convince them that picking a fight with forces they didn't understand was a fool's quest.

He remembered the first time he'd actually struck back: finally lashed out at those who'd tried to push him down beneath them, reminding him of where he'd come from, and where he was ultimately going. He'd been about eleven, and now in retrospect, he was amazed that it had taken that long just for him to stand up and say 'fuck it', and use the power he had been given. To tap into that rage and bitter malice that coursed through his body just as steadily as his own blood.

The sun had been shining in the sky, as the chatter of lunch and recess had mixed and mingled in the clean air. Bodies had been walking, running, jumping, skipping, touching, in perpetual motion as childhood marched on, various lives all confined to the same structured institute of education.

This was where he found himself now: a tall boy with scratched up skin and ripped clothes, blue hair standing out like a fallen piece of sky as he was shoved roughly into the chain-link fence surrounding the schoolyard. Around him were four or five other boys, almost impossible to tell from one another, laughing and shouting as they pushed and pulled at him, again and again. A few feet away lay his meal, the bag torn and the contents strewn across the ground. They had been stomped and ground into the dirt that now stained his knees and palms.

"_Come on, weirdo! Get up! Don't you wanna play with us?"_ He'd never attempted once, not once, to silence these beings that currently stared down at his gangling form, trying and failing to stand as he received another kick of fine red dust to the eyes. He'd figured that if he were just patient, things would move along, and eventually he'd be free to do as he so wished, without any sort of consequences to hold him back. It wasn't that he feared the reprimand, he just didn't want to deal with it. He wanted to nurture his anger, until the day came when he could finally unleash every last drop of it upon the world. He had the strange notion that if he engaged in combat too soon, he'd run out of that hatred that helped to sustain him.

Luckily, this was the last day he'd ever think that way.

Maybe it was the fact that he towered over their lot without even trying, yet he found himself perpetually underfoot. Maybe his hunger was acting for him. Perhaps he was just sick of tasting the dirt in his mouth, like mud. Whatever the trigger, the next few scenes in his flashback had filled him with a sense of freedom he'd been longing for since his conception.

It was instantaneous. He was on his feet, worn sneakers digging into the ground as he found his hands around the throat of the nearest assailant. The boy had gasped in surprise, as he swung his body effortlessly into the form of the other figure closest to him. As they collided into one another, he'd let go, giving them and the rest the faintest sense of relief. He'd worn himself out already!

Or he was simply getting ready for that next strike.

His fist had smashed thoroughly into that same boy's face, and the crunch of his nose giving way to his knuckles had coursed through his entire scraggly childhood form like a drug. His blue eyes had eagerly surveyed the blood upon his skin, marveling at the fact that this time, it wasn't his own. Not only that, but he'd been the one to draw it out. It only got better from there.

Now, the commotion outside had ceased completely. The hollow thuds emanating from his cage were more than enough to switch the guard's attention from subduing the weakling in their grasp, as their focus was now turned towards the fact that currently, _that_ prisoner was having a fit. And they were the ones who had to deal with it.

Still lost in his recollections of yesteryear, Grimmjow could feel his face turning up and twisting into that grin of utter control and domination. His foot had caught the stomach of the second boy, before slamming into his lower spine when he bent forwards to clutch at his gut, coughing up spittle onto the toes of his shoes. He went down with hardly any effort.

Now the remaining three were desperate to flee. But Grimmjow wasn't having any of it. He'd grabbed ahold of one of the tormentor's shirt collars, effectively bringing him back into striking range. His blows had rained down, catching any part of his displayed form that the blue-haired male could reach. Again and again, his fist crashed into the youth's temple, before smashing securely into his windpipe.

The last two were the ones he savored the most. His dirty fingers had tangled in short locks, ripping out a few strands as he'd shoved his head towards the ground. His friend looking on in horror, he'd planted himself upon the boy's back, smashing his skull into the dirt and yanking his head back so far he was surprised that his neck or spine hadn't snapped from the pressure. The final face had taken a few seconds to chase down-he'd managed to get a head start running towards the populated playground, but Grimmjow had caught up to him soon enough. With hands wrapped like constrictors around his throat, the boy had fallen to his knees, as a crowd of spectators now gathered to watch the last unfurling moments of the bloodbath, innocence ripped away as he shook the figure in his grasp as violently as his child's hold would allow him to.

He couldn't stand those brown eyes, staring back up at him in helpless surrender. Where was the superiority that had infected and set them alight naught but five minutes ago? Desperate to avert that gaze, he swung his head down with all the force he could muster, forehead cracking against his prey's as the boy let out a pained gurgle.

"_What's wrong? Don't you wanna play? I said, __**don't you wanna play, huh**__?"_ Laughter overtook him now as the memory tapered off, ended by the entrance of teachers and monitors, prying him away from his target and hauling him towards the buildings. It was a swarm of colors and voices that he couldn't care less to identify-all he knew was that he had won. He had _won_. For the very first time in his life, he had won. And it felt fucking _good_.

It started with a few pounds against the door. "Oi, number 2136657! Knock it off in there!" His head whipped towards the sound of the voice, but Grimmjow's recognition of the guard's presence wasn't nearly enough of a deterrent to stop his aggression. His fists continued smashing into the wall, by this point numb to the continued onslaught of emotions being physically manifested. He couldn't tell if the bones were cracking, or the muscles were torn apart, or even if the skin had swollen up twice its normal size. He really didn't care.

The original instigator of the row outside had been safely returned to his cell, and now the attentions were being drawn to the almost rhythmic pounding filtering out from behind the tempered steel barrier. Again, more knocking upon the door. "Hey, can you hear us in there? Shut up!" Still, he didn't slow his actions, no matter if each swing was steadily losing speed and power. Let those assholes come in and silence him themselves. He could take them all on, never mind if his hands felt nearly as big as his head by this point.

There was no other option. At this rate, he was liable to start a riot, if he didn't turn his fingers into mush. So, the code was punched in, and the door unlocked, swinging outwards with that screechy creak. A trio of guards stepped inside, two more standing behind them just in case. "Jeagerjaquez! You fuckin' deaf?" Their hands were twitching at their sides; he knew without even having to spare them a glance that they were just itching to pull out their batons and mace.

For a few moments, the fighting stopped. Grimmjow allowed himself to breathe; allowed the seething in his fingers and joints to slowly seep in, the fog of past and present defiance and bloodlust clearing to make way for a new image: that face, so demure and imploring.

He could see her, feel her, hell even smell her-a scent of flowers and something sugary. Her hands were light and gentle, handling him with such a timidity, as if she were honestly afraid to break him; as if he would crumble under her touch. And at the time, he'd been pretty damn close. How could she be so caring and unguarded around someone-no, some_thing_ like him? It hadn't even seemed to cross her mind that there was another option: to just say no, and turn away. Like everyone else, lest they wished to face the wrath of the almighty Pantera. The destroyer, bound in human flesh.

"Feh. I ain't doing shit." Without another word, Grimmjow stalked over to his cot, yanking up the pillow from its front end as he passed and throwing it back at the head of his bed. He flopped down upon the lumpy mattress, surveying the guards with the usual air of cold cockiness. "What? Got somethin' you wanna say t'me? Spit it out, or fuck off." He snorted. "I may be locked in here, but seeing you outside of routine wasn't a part of the deal." As much as they hurt, he made a show of cracking his knuckles, which were raw and shredded from the earlier brutal beating.

The guards were at a loss as to what to do. He wasn't causing trouble now, aside from being a smart-ass, which was normal for him anyway. They couldn't intentionally restrain him unless he defied their orders and rules while in their presence. So, although it pained them to do so, they left. "Whatever. Just keep your hands to yourself, and be quiet!" With a slam, the cell door shut and locked, leaving Grimmjow alone once more in the semi-darkness.

And his hands were throbbing like nobody's business. He growled and rolled over, one hand crushed under the pillow, the other resting on the mattress just in front of his chest. He needed a label to avert the hurt, to give his wounds some substance. So he settled on the flashback to his youth. _I pounded the shit outta those maggots. Yeah, that'll do it..._Almost instantly, the pain seemed to subside, relegated to a status of battle scar instead of frustration. He could live with that. Just as long as that redheaded bitch didn't try to invade his dreams or anything similar.

With a huff, Grimmjow closed his blue eyes, running through fields of previous triumphs and past kills. He fell asleep with a small smirk on his lips, hands comfortably bruised and battered as they lay beside his still form. Time would go on.

But then again, so would she.

**A/N: ...not much to say here. Sorry for the delay; the website was acting up and wouldn't allow me to edit this chapter, so I couldn't post it. Plus, I just got out of the hospital on Monday. Bleagh. Anyway, hope you enjoyed. Next time: visit number two. How will things turn out this round? Wait and see.**

**As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Take care.**


	8. Try Again

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Try Again**

By the time the second visit between the two of them rolled around, a good few months had passed by in the blink of an eye. Four and a half, to be exact. The winter had come along, and the holidays had taken place without any incident or memorable moments. It was both a relief and a downer.

As Orihime stood before the elevator once again, hands folded in front of her while she waited for the electronic box to come rattling down, her thoughts drifted between the last few times of celebration during December, and the current situation she found herself in. Once again, she stood at the entrance to the lion's den. It had taken a while for her to muster up that nerve to schedule a new visiting session, but in the end, she had managed. Her emotions of curiosity and compassion had overruled the fear and lingering sting of his previous words.

The doors opened, and she followed suit after the guards into the metal contraption. This time, she was lead by a man and a woman. A long blonde ponytail bounced just above the edges of her vision as she continued staring down at her intertwined fingers and faded shoes, fresh with snow.

The holiday party she'd attended really hadn't been much to tout, but at the moment it was haunting her, like a sweet-smelling lie. She recalled the various bits of conversation she had engaged in: Tatsuki hadn't been able to take time off to come back, so for the most part, Orihime had been on her own. She'd chatted for a bit with Chizuru, who had been flirting with her for a few minutes before being dragged off by her girlfriend. The feisty skirt-chaser had grown into a cool talking woman, and although taken, Orihime still held a special place in her heart. She was quite surprised to hear that after so long, the girl still hadn't settled down with a significant other.

"Whaaat? But 'Hime, you're so pretty and smart! Most girls would kill to be you! And you're telling me that you haven't gone out with anyone, not even once? There must've been someone who caught your eye, even just a little!" At this, the girl had felt her cheeks heat up.

"Well...there is-was someone...I dunno, they weren't really that interested..." There was a part of her that longed to share her previous experience with her old friend, but something held her back. Though Chizuru hadn't been nearly as involved when it happened, she'd more than likely give her the third degree for 'putting herself in harm's way', as it were. She wasn't stupid; she still remembered just how tense things had gotten during their last two years of high school.

When she was unable to coax anymore info from her shy friend, that was when the lightbulb flashed on above Chizuru's head. "Oh! We can go scouring the streets or personals-maybe a few bars, hook you up, and then you can come on a double date with me and Risa! Oh, or even better-threeway! What d'you say, Risa-chaaan?"

The remark was met by a slap to the head and a string of muttered profanities as Risa, a girl Orihime recognized from a neighboring high school back in the day, offered a brief acknowledgment to Orihime before dragging her lustful partner off towards the couch. Her braids whipped behind her, glasses catching the reflection of her eyes in the overhead lights, before she disappeared from view in the drifting mass of the crowd. So once more, Orihime was alone.

She'd talked to a few other people from high school, as well as some faces she'd met in college. Keigo was still as loud and out there as ever, and apparently drunk that night, too. He'd tried to convince his old buddy Mizuiro into joining him for a karaoke carol duet, though soon enough the lyrics dissolved into a rather bawdy tribute to the 'other' benefits of mistletoe. Eventually the latter had to unplug the microphone before guiding his friend over towards the buffet table.

The college crowd was only slightly more reserved, and still engaging. There was an eggnog chugging contest going on between a group of men, while in the kitchen a heated debate was being held amongst a handful of females who were reminiscing on the group they'd held during their university years, and just how much of a change they had contributed to the women's side of things upon campus. Siblings who had gathered were still arguing over who was really in charge, and in another corner unfinished paperwork was shuffled from folder to folder by a silent figure who was nearly lost among the much larger standing figures. It was the one space that hadn't been dominated by bodies and décor.

Most of her old friends were either paired off and working, or working while playing the field. She seemed to be the only one who wasn't actively looking for a date. Did that make her weird, or was it legitimately believable that she just didn't feel like pursuing a romance at this time?

Or maybe, just maybe...it was because she couldn't follow her heart's desire, thus blocking off her interest in anyone else altogether?

The elevator stopped at the same floor as before, and Orihime was led to the main room, to be exchanged from one pair of hands to another. This time, they didn't bother giving her the mini-lesson; once was enough to remember, and the girl was thankful for that small favor. It was a tiny difference between this visit and the last, but it all served a purpose: to hopefully lead to a different outcome-one that didn't result in hurled curses and early endings.

"Alright. Just sit down-they'll be here in a couple of minutes." Leaning back in his seat, hands still cuffed securely behind his back, Grimmjow let out an annoyed huff. Another visit. He'd been holed up in his room, relishing the fact that therapy had been cancelled for the day due to Mister Pansy-Ass being out sick, when the guards had come calling, dragging him out and back to that pale room with the plastic seat and plexiglass divider.

The phone cradle seemed to mock him in his peripheral vision, taunting him with the fact that as soon as his 'guest' arrived, he would be expected to pick it up, whether he wanted to or not. And as much as he wished he could say otherwise, he knew there was only one person daring enough-or dumb enough-to come looking for him again like this. He grit his teeth as the doorknob on the other side began to click and turn, leading in the parade of guards and solitary guest. A dark grimace graced his features.

He'd thought that after going through the winter and end-of-the-year celebrations without any contact, that he'd managed to adequately scare her off. But no such luck. Four months though it may have been, she stood before him once more, pale skin seeming to glow under the faintly humming lights, as one of the guards pulled out the chair for her to sit down across from him. Biting his tongue as the cuffs were unlocked, Grimmjow held back the urge to spit.

"H-hello again." With receiver in her delicate hands, the light tones of his former classmate drifted over the line and into his ear, knuckles tight around the plastic device as he tried not to let the simple greeting drive him nuts. That grey gaze was trained on him now, when only a moment earlier it had been rightfully cast down, towards the ground. Where she belonged. Beneath him.

But why would he want her near him, anyway?

"Feh. Why'd you come back?" His tone was harsh, as always, misinterpretation of his words impossible to accomplish as he fixed her with that barely restrained gaze. Orihime knew that if the situation were any different, even by just a single detail, he wouldn't have hesitated to tear her apart. Just like a wild animal. A lion-no, a panther. Using the shadows to its advantage, concealing every trace of its presence until it was too late, far too late to run, to scream. By the time you saw your reflection in its eyes, you were as good as dead.

But again, something compelled her to go on. She couldn't turn away, couldn't swallow his words and repeat them like a stuck record. She knew the venom in his voice was real, yet something refused to allow her to accept it as truth. It was as if there were something hidden, just a little deeper beneath the surface, and if she just kept digging, pushing, pressing-a little more, a little more, a little more...she'd find it. Whatever it was. And then her conscience would be at rest.

Orihime cleared her throat. "So, umm...it's been snowing a good deal." It was yet another weak start. But babbling had always been her forte; eventually, it would lead to some sort of conversation of merit. She should know how cold it was-for God's sakes, she'd been bundled up in a sweater and parka! She'd taken off the latter upon arrival, as well as her scarf, earmuffs and gloves, but a couple layers still remained. Looking over at Grimmjow, still clad as always in that thin ripped uniform, she had to wonder how it was that the man was not shivering, defiant or not. "Does that bother you here?"

"I couldn't care less about the weather. Prison is prison. Temperature don't change that." His quick reply was almost colder than the frost itself. Orihime decided to abandon the subject of seasons, and go for something a little more meaningful. "I see...well, h-how were your holidays?"

He shook his head, marveling to himself at just how desperate this female was for some sort of interaction. She had to be, seeking him out, of all people, and at a place like this, too. Looking up, his blue eyes were narrowed as he addressed her with a mocking charity.

"Oh, sure. They taught us how to whip up _all_ those nausea-inducing holiday goodies, and then we were put on gift-wrapping duty, to save the stores some hassle. Free labor and all that good will shit, you know?" She flinched at his language, but didn't turn away. "I'm in a fucking cell. Do you really think that nonsense like 'holidays' applies here? Couldn't give a fuck less what the rest of the miserable population wants to waste their time and money on. It doesn't affect me."

"...right..." She was fiddling with the end of her long amber locks, and just for a moment he was distracted. He couldn't explain why. Maybe it was that the action, to him, represented a sense of weakness and deflection; a need to fix one's focus on something other than him, when they'd had the gall to come calling for him in the first place. Where was her earlier empowering, if annoying resolve to bring him out of his shell, and get him talking like the rest of her sappy schoolmates?

"Hey." His tone caught her attention immediately, and Orihime's hand fell back to her lap, eyes locking upon his once more as he scrutinized her from behind the barrier. "I didn't come out t'watch you play with your damn hair. If it bothers you that much, then cut it off. You won't have to worry 'bout it getting in the way anymore." As he was saying this, Grimmjow's mind began to picture, without his consent, an image of the girl before him with locks that barely grazed her shoulders. For some reason, it disquieted him. Short didn't suit her. She was better all wild and free and-

_What the fuck? It's none of my goddamn business what she does with herself! I just want to-_but his thoughts were interrupted, as her soft voice piped up, "I can't cut it...I have no desire to." Her expression had softened then, and she seemed to be looking through him. "It means something to me...something very important." This bothered him. More than the action itself had. But he wasn't about to grant the idea any more of his time. He was wasting enough of it as it was humoring her.

"Ha. Like you'd even know the _concept_ of importance. You, who grew up all coddled and protected. You don't have a single thought of merit in that air head of yours." For emphasis, he tapped at his temple, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he saw the light flicker out from her eyes. Then, it was suddenly replaced by a new spark.

"Don't call me stupid, Grimmjow-san...at least, not if you're going to be so passive about it. I respect your honesty-please don't act like you have to hide yourself in front of me." The comment struck him far harder than he'd thought it would or could. Was she a masochist? Was she actually telling him off? Or maybe, just maybe...she thought she could understand him, handle him? That just because of what they'd shared together during those two moments in time, she was automatically immune and shielded from the full reach of his depravity and loathing?

Did she admire him, in some twisted manner? _Or possibly even...nah, fat chance of that. Like I'd __**want**__ that to be the case, anyway. _He leaned closer to the glass, heavy breath casting a fog against the surface.

"Alright, if you like my honesty so much? Here's what I honestly think of you: you're a fucking idiot. You can't carry a conversation for shit, and your feelings are as meaningless to me as the snow outside. Whatever it is you're expecting from me, I ain't buying. So scram." His words had been fueled with all the hate he could muster, on such a pathetically defenseless creature, but still, she did not look away. Instead, she was...starting to smile? What fresh hell was this? His superiority faltered, and she let out a soft giggle.

"You're right...I'm really not the best at social situations. I'm not surprised you picked up on that. If I was expecting anything less, then I obviously wouldn't know you very well at all, Grimmjow-san." Her grey eyes were so gentle as she looked towards him, now leaning closer to the glass as well. From his side, he saw the guards stiffen, prepared for a lash out. How could this twit be so bold? He had to turn his head, to avoid acknowledging that unabashed expression in her gaze. Why was she so open in front of him? He'd use it against her every chance he got-he already had, in fact! So then why, why, why...

Just as he was looking away though, a faint glimmer caught his eye. Forced to turn back, out of sheer curiosity, he now took notice of a silver chain around the redhead's neck. It was thin, almost invisible, and hung over the front of her teal sweater with a small star-shaped pendant. A tiny orange stone rested in its center. He sat back in his seat, pointing a free finger at her throat lazily. "The hell's that thing? Some kinda amulet? Or a pointless gift from one o' your dumb-ass friends?" Instantly, the color rose in her cheeks, and Orihime found her own hand reaching up, trying now to hide the necklace from view.

_Shoot, I forgot I was wearing this...!_ Yes, it had been a gift from a friend-two of them, in fact, though it had only been physically given to her by one. But if Grimmjow knew who that one was, oh...the memories it'd bring up! The last thing she needed was to hand him a fresh trigger on a plate. So she did her best to cover it with a cheery fib.

"Oh, t-this old thing? I've had it forever-ages, in fact! Yeah! And um, I j-just felt like wearing it recently-what with the holiday colors and all that, and it's so small, I don't even realize it's there! You know they like to top the trees at Christmas with stars? Oh, well, maybe you don't, since you're i-in here and all, but they-"

His words cut through her flimsy ramblings like a katana. "Woman. _Don't_ take me for a fool." His cyan gaze was now boring into her, and Orihime felt the rest of her excuse fall away, the words tumbling off her tongue and back down her throat, dissolving into nothing amongst the stomach acids. He wasn't dumb. He knew her routine, and if she was that lousy at keeping up discussions then by her body language and stuttering alone, she was God-awful at telling lies. There was something about this piece that she didn't feel like sharing. That alone made it worthy of prying into.

His eyes flashed back down to the now hidden necklace at her throat, then back up to her startled gaze. "I asked you: what. Is. It. And where did you get it from? And don't try to feed me any bullshit about having had it in storage somewhere for oh so long-you didn't have jack shit in high school, and I know you don't have anything now."

The girl gulped. How else could she respond? He had her pegged. She really hadn't been one for jewelry and such, usually never having the money to afford anything in her youth. Even now as a nurse, she still hadn't gotten a taste for the shiny things. Her ears had never been pierced. The only reason she'd bothered wearing this one was because it was a gift, and it was small, and she'd been able to go about her daily business without the majority taking notice. It had been so inconspicuous, in fact, that she herself had forgotten it was there.

But this wasn't the majority she was dealing with here. This was Grimmjow. And she couldn't lie to save her life, least of all in front of him. Things were about to get ugly.

"I g-got it...as a gift. At Christmas. From a friend." She hoped this simple answer was good enough to satisfy him. But she was wrong. His eyes were still trained on her, words leaving his lips low and slow, with a tight edge to them. She liked his truthfulness? Then she should've been prepared for that characteristic to be expected both ways. "Which friend?" By the look on her face now, it was obviously someone he'd known back in the day. Someone who'd been close to him, in whatever way or another. His mouth felt dry. "And I want a _name_."

Orihime knew what was going to happen before the words came out of her mouth. Inside, she was mentally cursing herself for not doing a better job of checking her attire before leaving. How was she able to screw up these sessions so royally? At this rate, he was likely to block off all contact with her, and then she'd never get her answers, never mind not knowing what they were meant to solve in the first place!

After a few seconds of hesitation, the two words finally left her mouth. Her eyes were no longer on Grimmjow, but instead upon her lap. Another warning sign. Seven syllables. "...Kurosaki...Ichigo..."

It was all he needed to hear. In an instant, his fist had slammed into the wall, and she could feel the shaking carry over to her side of the booth. He wasn't standing, but his own head was lowered, thin spiked bangs falling over his forehead. His shoulders were rising and falling with deep, even breaths. As timid as she felt, Orihime had to say something. "G-Grimmjow-sa-"

"Fuck. Off." The words were clear to everyone on both sides of the room: it was time to go. With a heavy heart, Orihime replaced the phone in its cradle, and proceeded to stand up from the chair, to follow the guards out of the room and back downstairs. To civilization. Again casting a last glance in his direction before the door shut, she could see him hunched over the table, fist still pressed tightly into the wall. The second receiver remained in his hand, against his ear.

As the cuffs were replaced and his body adjusted against his own choosing, Grimmjow could only focus on those last two words that had left the lips of his visitor. That name. Of all the names in the whole wide world, she'd had to say _his_. He just _had_ to be the one who'd given her that stupid necklace. Just his luck.

It was taking all of his self-control not to lash out right there and then, at the guards who were now leading him out the door, through the hallway and back to his cell. All he could see in his mind's eye was strawberry-blond hair, nearly orange in shade, and amber eyes that had scrutinized him with a sense of justice and stubbornness. No matter how many times they'd butted heads, that damn string bean would never give in. It was his duty to stand up against the scum and evil that Grimmjow represented, even back in high school at the age of sixteen. He'd hated that so much: that smug superiority complex that Kurosaki seemed to stoke with every swing and every curse, as if he were so much better than the blue-haired male himself, fighting fire with fire. As if.

This time though, as the whirl of memories bounced around inside his head, Grimmjow had to admit that it was more than just the mere mention of the moniker that was getting to him. No, it was also tied into the fact that even now, this character still held some sort of special meaning to that ditzy girl, and obviously the feeling was mutual. That's what gifts were for, right?

Grimmjow scoffed to himself under his breath. Did he truly care whether or not Kurosaki and that woman were dating? In a relationship? Fucking? No, of course not. Then why did this last encounter plague him so?

_Because she came to see me. Me and only me. If she's gonna waste my time, she should at least be focused and consistent about it. I ain't one for sharing._ The logic was weird, but currently it was all he had to go on. If she had been there purposefully to talk about his encounters with the berry-brained dipshit, that was one thing. But she wasn't. Her visits were meant to be between them and them alone. So in a sense, it was as if Kurosaki were sticking his nose in where it didn't belong, just like always. Just like the good old days.

_Feh. It's almost __**too**__ fitting that he became a cop._ Grimmjow was just amazed he'd never come into contact with him after graduation. It was both a godsend and a rip. He'd loved to have stained that crisp uniform of his with his own blood, ripping off that stupid armband and throttling him with it. Show him just how far 'good guys' really made it in this world. As far as he knew, they ended up dead. Personal experience was talking now-he'd sent a nice dozen or so do-gooders to an early grave, as had his former comrades in the underworld scene.

They had reached the cell, and Grimmjow watched with a lazy scowl as one of the guards punched in the code for his door. _Every time. Every single time she comes here, this happens. I always wind up so fucking worked up, over shit I can't even act upon. Is that her plan? To drive me into the goddamn loony bin? _

He didn't know. He really didn't know. As the cuffs came off and the door slammed closed behind him, he trudged over to the cot against the wall, flopping down with a grunt and a heavy creak. He briefly wondered how long this bed had been in use at the prison. Probably close to a decade, if not longer. Had the quality been this shoddy when it was first assembled and installed, or was that merely due to the usage it had been through?

_Whatever._ He rolled over onto his back, arms folded behind his head as he tried to get that innocent face and voice out of his thoughts, only to have it replaced by a confrontational wannabe hero. He snorted. Didn't Kurosaki know? _Only the good die young._ With his mind in conflict, Grimmjow attempted to sort out his thoughts, seeing as he really didn't have a suitable outlet to vent his frustration. He could punch the walls again, but what would that get him? Just more busybody guards and watchful eyes.

All he wanted right now was to just forget the rest of the world, the universe. Forget that that asshole Ichigo was out there, somewhere, living out his dream of 'being a protector'. Ha. Forget that Orihime still considered him important, even knowing that they were enemies and claiming to want to see him for her own reasons, ones that weren't meant to have anything to do with anyone else. They weren't supposed to.

_Shit._ He leaned back into the pillow, and closed his eyes. _I'm actually kinda lookin' forwards to our next meeting...to see how far this chick'll go trying t'get me 'on her side', or whatnot. But she'd better not be wearing that pendant._ He chuckled softly for a few seconds, before realizing exactly what he'd just expressed. Eyes now open and darting side to side in the dim lighting, he hastily added on an addendum:

_That is, if she's dumb enough to come back here again._

**A/N: And so goes chapter eight. Another visit down, both with progress and not so much. ^^; Sorry things are going so slowly, but I just can't see either of these characters jumping into any sort of relationship right off the bat.**_  
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**And Ichigo! How did you all like his appearance? Looking back over this, it almost feels like he's a villain of sorts, which...really isn't true? He's not meant to be a bad guy; it's simply that through Grimmjow's perspective, which is one of the two main ones, he comes across as such, seeing as the two of them really don't have a great history together. Ichigo will be playing a bit more of a role in this story though, so I do hope you'll be looking forward to it.**

**Poor Orihime. At least she's got the guts to stand up to Grimmjow properly. Now, if she could just figure out how to talk to him...! Next time: visit number three! And-what's this? A breakthrough? Or just a dream? You'll see what I mean.  
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**Hope you're all still enjoying. Take care now, and thank you to everyone for all the feedback, no matter the form it comes in.  
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	9. My Favorite Game

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**My Favorite Game**

And apparently, she was. Or was it just her insufferably thick head and unwarranted courage coming back into play? Grimmjow felt it was the former; he knew that this woman was most likely operating under the delusion of it being the latter. By this point, seeing as it was now Round Three of Prison Social Hour, he figured it was moot to ask her why she kept coming back. He'd just have to find another way to break her spirit, and deflate that plucky fortitude of hers.

This time, it had only taken two months, half the time, for Orihime to gather her resolve, and make the arrangements for the visit. Now, it was early spring, and the snow was beginning to just barely give way to the warmth of the sun and fresh green foliage, blooming from underneath the melting frost. Still, the chills hadn't quite evaporated, and an extra layer was required when going out. She sat before the blue-haired male, this time clad in a crisp black coat, pale pink polo shirt, black slacks and ankle boots. Her scarf and gloves had been removed prior to arrival. Grimmjow looked the same as always.

She had made certain before leaving the house, that everything on her person was accounted for. The young woman didn't want another unpleasant incident to arise simply because she'd forgotten to do something as simple as check in the mirror before she headed out. Of course, the offending pendant had been swiftly removed upon arrival back home, and carefully hidden away at the bottom of her dresser drawer. As much as she cared for her friends, Orihime had no interest in upsetting Grimmjow any more so than she'd already done-showing up in general didn't count.

That, and if she really were to admit to herself...it wasn't the same now, wearing something given to her by Ichigo. Way back when, she'd have been ecstatic, and worn it until the chain broke and the pendant faded. But now, it was only an accessory, a thing. And she wouldn't die without it around her neck. She would just keep it set aside for a special occasion, if such arose. _If _it arose.

The redhead wasn't sure why, but today she felt...stronger, sitting in front of him, than she had during their previous encounters. Even though she still hadn't figured out any particular method of breaking the ice straightaway when she sat down and picked up the receiver, a noticeable sense of optimism pervaded her as she locked eyes once more with the bored madman. Although she knew what could go wrong, she also had an idea of what good looked like, with him. She'd seen it in the briefest moments across the glass, when he wasn't firing off heated comebacks.

And so far, they were three sessions in, and he still hadn't blocked her from seeing him. That had to count for something. It just had to.

By now, the beginning silence between them was old hat for the guards, who leaned against the walls or doors, picking their nails. But at least one corner gaze was kept upon the two characters before them. It had gotten around-at least to them-that Jeagerjaquez had a little 'visitor', who was easy on the eyes. Their meetings had already taken on a sort of legendary quality, seeing as she wasn't the usual to come to a scene like this, much less to talk to the unofficially crowned King of the Psychos.

The fact that he hadn't tried to demolish the barrier to get through and wring her neck was also a miracle, since their last two sessions had ended in the Pantera cutting it short with his verbal and physical fury. But it was subdued. Just how did these two know each other? There was no way they'd been friends in school. Was she just a Good Samaritan, or a ditz? Her records checked out, but...it was a mystery for the ages.

She picked at a corner of the table. "The spring is here k-kinda early this year." Grimmjow didn't respond. "It's getting warmer outside, day by day. A-and the scenery is really pretty, too. Umm...I wish I could show it to you? I mean, I know you said you didn't care, and that the weather didn't matter, but...it's still nice? Oh, I could take some pictures, and give them to you-it's not like I could hide anything in them?" Although the male hadn't changed his expression or uttered a single word so far, this was the longest Orihime could remember actually talking to him about any one subject. Maybe his disinterest was a plus? It could mean that he wasn't currently harboring thoughts of how he might like to remove her vocal cords.

And if she'd been able to read his thoughts, Orihime would have discovered that her ideas weren't too far from the truth. Had he woken up on the good side of the bed today?

_How the hell does she have the guts?_ Grimmjow had to give her credit. As much as he wanted to berate her for wasting his time, he had to admire her blunt determination to see this Fool's Quest to the end, whatever it may be. She'd managed to converse mindlessly, while still proving that she was listening to what he said, even as he told her off. Not that he really cared what she did, one way or another, but it certainly was a surprise.

That, and to have so much attention invested in him, of all people, by someone who shouldn't have found their way inside his circle at all...there was a perverse sort of pleasure in acknowledging the fact. She could've been bumming around with any one of her mindless friends-but instead, her interest was focused on him. What a turn from their school days, though. His snarky replies were forgotten as, for just a brief moment, he decided to humor her.

"We get recreation time. Outside. In the courtyard. It's got barbed fences, but you can still see out through 'em. And up into the sky. It's alright." The girl nearly fell out of her chair in shock. Had he just...given her a real answer? A somewhat solid response to her rambling chatter? She had to seize this opportunity.

"So...you can see the grass? And the road? Can you see who comes in and out?" Now she was sounding a little too excited for his liking. Grimmjow let out a huff, rolling his eyes. "Relax, _Princess_. I said we can see out-that doesn't mean everything is included. Yeah, I can see the grass, but that's about it. And it ain't much t'brag about, neither. It's dead." He turned his head. "The entrance is on the other side of the complex. Do the math."

Her brow furrowed at the application of the mocking moniker, but his response did serve to calm her down, and silence the chatter. As she pondered over what he said, the blue-haired male shook his head. Was she so starved for contact that she'd hang on his every word, just to have a purpose? Something to do? While the idea of attention was tempting to play around with, in the end he really had no intention of letting this woman make herself a major part of his existence. Even if she kept visiting, that distance would always remain.

_What, don't they treat her with kindness and sympathy, all that shit?_ He wouldn't linger on any specific names. If he did, he'd want to kill something. And usually, that was channeled into violent fantasies, or the occasional spar with the walls. But today, for whatever reason...he felt like making this visit go on, if for just a little bit longer. It was both a welcomed change and a maddening puzzle, being sought after by someone like her. Anyone else would have given up a long time ago, what with his attitude and violent past.

His memories drifted back, back to a vision he'd had in the hospital. Of the girl with the flowing amber locks, staring down at him from beside the bed. He couldn't make out the expression on her face, but something inside had told him that she was crying. Maybe it was the dim lighting coming in from the window, casting a weird glow behind her? Or perhaps she had leaned over, and he'd heard a sniffle, felt a tear. He'd been asleep before the memory started. Again, it could've just been an overly vivid dream. But he had also found out that that was the hospital she was employed to...

Grimmjow had a sinking feeling that this event had actually transpired. And the worst part? He'd been so drugged out at the time, that he couldn't even recall how he had responded. In his conscious mind, he would've let loose, and scared her away. But here, he couldn't do anything. Being so dopey and out of sorts, he had no clue as to whether he'd ever truly reacted, or how.

_Maybe that's why I'm stuck in this situation...did I actually encourage her, or something? _Again, his gaze returned to the girl before him, who was now watching him with a wary, but still noticeable glint of hope. His chest tightened momentarily, as her lips parted and she spoke once more.

"Well...what about the pictures? W-would you still be interested if I took some?" He shook his head. Looks like nobody had bothered to explain all of the prison rules to her. Was that going to fall on his shoulders, too? "We're only allowed t'keep three personal items. This extends into reading materials and the like. If you wanna waste your film and prepare some kind of slideshow, go ahead. But I'm telling you right now, I ain't gonna hold onto 'em."

Orihime slowly nodded, the new fact now registering with her. He didn't say he wasn't interested in seeing anything, only that he wouldn't bother trying to save them for later. That was good enough for her. "Alright, then I'll-I'll get a disposable, and t-take a few shots for you. Like of the scenery. And bring them here...to show you. Would that be okay?" Grimmjow turned his head, mentally marveling at how his short replies, no matter how detached, still seemed to inspire this female with a new driving force. Usually, he was best at inspiring fear, and that had nothing to do with his words. Only his actions. "Feh. Do what you like."

This answer was enough to make the redhead's stomach do a summersault. "I will...thank you." And now she was grateful. For what? He was being dismissive as always. Did she honestly think that he'd get some sort of kick out of the gesture? He couldn't have cared less how the world could have changed while he was stuck in here. It was a shithole no matter how he looked at it. A few snapshots on a sunny day weren't about to change that. Not even if they'd come from her.

His brow furrowed. _**Especially** not if they came from her._ She could do as she pleased, but he wasn't going to give her some sort of misguided satisfaction by smiling or clapping his hands like a trained monkey. If she wanted that, she could stick with her friends. His eyes narrowed slightly.

_And then she wouldn't be here in the first place. So what the hell is her game? _He still had no answers.

Orihime was trying not to squeal, at this sudden turn of events. He'd talked to her. He'd actually talked to her. She hadn't been expecting anything on this level to occur when she'd walked inside-yes, she'd wanted things to go better, maybe the subject matter to be a little lighter, but this? It was more than she could've asked for. The responses were typical of him, but they were there. He'd offered them. That was all she'd needed.

_He can socialize, if he wants to...or if he tries...so, is he trying? Or does he want to today, then?_ She wasn't sure. Neither idea seemed to fit him, but she couldn't come up with any alternatives. It didn't seem like he was pulling her leg, and even if he were, it still required some level of interest. Which meant that he had to want to converse with her, if only to have a laugh at her visible enthusiasm towards his replies. She could feel it-her heart was beating just a bit faster, as she prepared to pick up where the conversation thread had last left off. "D-do you like the outdoors, Grimmjow-san? Erm, I mean...did you?" Now he was looking at her once more, a grumpy deer in headlights. Orihime had to stifle a giggle. Not the most appropriate action here.

_The outdoors? Is she planning to bring me a goddamn travel guide?_ He snorted. "I couldn't really give a fuck 'bout it, but the trees are alright t'climb up or nap under. Good to ride out rain storms. And you can hide lots of bodies in the woods." The girl visibly stiffened at this admission, as did the guards, though they seemed far more fearful in their expressions than she. It only took a couple of seconds for her to relax, letting out a quiet breath. He chuckled.

"Did I scare you, _Princess_? Figured you'd be set off by something like that. What the hell you think I was thrown in here for, shoplifting?" Another chuckle on his end. It was pretty fun, toying with her like this, trying to see what got reactions and what didn't. It appeared that she had more guts then the guards around them did; they were looking back and forth, from him to the doors, as if expecting him to suddenly jump up and pull a crazy breakout routine.

He wasn't going to. Not today. He'd had to work pretty fucking hard to wind up in here and, although he missed the killing, wasn't looking to start anything. He'd earned his nasty reputation, both on and off the streets. At least, he wasn't about to pick a fight where nobody else could see. Gazing at the grey-eyed woman beyond the plexiglass, he felt that tension creep into his chest yet again.

_**She'd** see it...but then, where would the fun be?_ He was startled at this unexpected admission. How would she react, in this room full of strangers, if he were to rise up like a bat outta Hell, and start breaking necks and taking names? Would she remain so still and unflinching? Would she back away? Would she become afraid of him?

Or might she...could she possibly...

Grimmjow's thoughts trailed back, beyond the prison, past the medications and hospital walls, away from his days as a hardened thug on the streets with no real home to call his own, and no more ringing bells or adult figures to answer to. He felt himself slipping back in time, back in the middle of that memory of youth. His hands were clutching at the hard floor, as his gaze looked up, focusing as steadily as it could upon the small sloping ceiling and rafters. He felt the stinging, felt the burning, felt the throbbing and ache and blood and-

"Grimmjow-san?" She'd done it again. Pulled him from his thoughts, throwing him back into this current conversation. This mundane little performance between the two of them that he continued to allow and feed. He scowled at her, resting an elbow on the wooden tabletop. "What now?"

"Umm..." What could she say here? Orihime had only been able to tell that his thoughts had been going in a dangerous direction. She'd seen his hand clutching at the corner, knuckles turning white from the pressure. She hadn't wanted him to snap, to hurt; hadn't wanted this session to go downhill. She was actually getting somewhere with him! Where it was meant to lead to, she had no clue. But it was promising. That's all she knew inside.

"H-have you ever...shoplifted before?" The awkward silence that followed this question was so thick, it practically crushed her shoulders under its weight. All that thinking and scrambling, and this was all she could come back with? If Grimmjow was going to tell her off, it may as well be now. She braced herself instinctually, waiting for the brush off and disconnect.

"Heh...heh heh..." But instead, to her surprise, he began to laugh. First a few soft chuckles, gradually growing into full-fledged uproarious laughter. The guards had no ideas as to how to act, much less if this was a good or bad thing. Once more, Orihime was torn between the past and the present, remembering what his joy usually symbolized, and wondering if it was going to manifest itself here.

_Oh...oh, jeez. This chick may not be bright, but damn! Screw conversation skills, this is way more amusing!_ Now he was looking at her, a crafty grin tugging at the corners of his lips. She gulped quietly.

"You just don't fucking let up, do you? Yeah, I did. Only a couple o' times, though. Never got the taste of just up and nicking someone else's stuff off the shelf. If I wanted something, I found a way to earn it. Like beating the shit outta the unsuspecting dumb-ass in a suit, and jacking his ride and wallet. Or putting the hurt on some corner vultures 'cause I just happen to like the wares they're peddling, but don't feel like coughing up the dough. _That's_ earning it. There's no reward in walking into a store and playing peek-a-boo with the fucking cameras."

He leaned back in his seat, waiting for her to start collecting herself, allowing that indignant goody-goody rage to overwhelm her as she started spluttering on about how 'vile' he was, for bragging about such things. And waited. And waited. The smirk of superiority never left his lips.

"So...how many times is a couple? Like once, or twice? Three times? O-over the course of how many years, might you say?" Her voice may have been softer, but her words were still clear. Grimmjow was dumbfounded. She wasn't holding back anything as she surveyed him before her-hell, if he had to wager a guess, he'd peg the look in her eyes as one of...curiosity?

_What the fuck? I'm being honest here, and she's not even batting an eye! She's got morals out the fucking wazoo, I know that! So where the hell are they? Where's my show of indignant rage?_ Orihime was still as always, one hand holding the receiver and the other resting square in her lap. She wasn't squirming or attempting to hold back tears; she'd taken in his words as calmly as if he'd told her he liked fishing. He knew she was a 'good girl'. He knew it. Was this some sort of a front? Or was she honestly not bothered by these sorts of things? It didn't make any sense.

Seated in the hard plastic chair, Orihime could feel her heart pounding a mile a minute. This had to be the longest they'd gone on, conversation-wise. And somehow, the male hadn't blown up, nor had she lost her resolve. The things she was inquiring about were strange, certainly, but topics really didn't matter to her, as long as she was engaging with him.

He was no saint. Orihime knew this. Her starting subjects were insignificant, but the discussion they led to was worth it, even if he was mocking her behind the glass. She would have been beyond blind or foolish if she'd come in expecting some sort of remorse or censorship.

She just wanted him to talk to her, like he was in this moment. No airs, no masks. Just one-on-one. She knew him through bits and pieces; now, she wanted more. For whatever reason, her conscience was crying out for this. It wouldn't let the matter drop. So she'd pursued it, to its logical conclusion. And here she was now, staring at the expression of utter shock on the face of her companion.

Had the past truly brought them to this? Was that her driving motivation? Was she merely seeking a new outlet in her adult life, now that her friends had moved on and her childish innocence was being forced further and further to the deepest reaches of her existence? Or had it always been there, this interest, only coming forth now, with no restraints to hold her back from seeking him out? Her head was spinning.

Grimmjow's was, too. "I-yeah, it was over a few years. A good few. Like, I don't fucking know, ten? Maybe three times?" Now he was the one fumbling for words. Orihime's bizarre Q & A was starting to grate at him. And he didn't like it. He was the one who was supposed to be in control here. Not her. Letting out a low growl, he leaned forwards, blue eyes deep and glaring.

"Look, just what the fuck's your deal here?" The girl blinked. "My...deal?" She tilted her head. He wanted to smack her. Grab ahold of that long hair, and just drag her off to who knew where, and then-"You know what I mean. What are you tryin' t'pull?"

Orihime knew she was treading amongst a minefield. One wrong step, a misplaced word, and all her efforts would wind up sky-high. They'd come this far; so much progress had been made in just this one session alone! She wasn't going to lose it all. She wasn't. She wasn't! She was being just as up-front in her replies and actions as he was, but obviously he didn't see it as such. So it was on her now to prove otherwise. She inhaled carefully.

"I'm not trying to 'pull' anything. I already told you, I admire your honesty. If I were trying to-to lie, then I'd be a hypocrite in my statement." Why it was so important to her that he understood her intentions, she couldn't fathom. But she didn't dwell on this point. "I came out here to see you. That's it. You're free t-to think what you want, but...I know what's inside me." She looked away, as an unfamiliar heat began to sneak into her cheeks. Was she...blushing in front of him? When had things gone so nutty? Besides the obvious, that was.

"I know what I believe, and what I want. Nothing will change that." It took a few seconds, but Orihime finally managed to turn back to face him, seeing that his look of anger had been dulled to one of puzzled frustration. "That's all." Letting out the breath she didn't even realize she'd been holding in, the girl wondered how he would choose to answer now.

There was silence between them, the first marked pause in a good while. Orihime had almost forgotten the sound of nothing. It consisted of heartbeats and racing pulses. Of creaking chairs and shoes scuffing against the linoleum floor. Of tongue chewing and softly cracked knuckles. In the end, she might've preferred the yelling, after all. At least it wasn't taunting.

Then, it was broken. "How...how did you..." She had to lean closer, in order to hear him. This was the first time Grimmjow's voice had lowered so drastically. Was this a good sign, or bad? "How the hell did you...why did you try to find me, anyway? Why are you so damned desperate...to worm your way in?" His eyes flashed as he regarded her with a new loathing. "Who the fuck told you to come and see me? _Huh_?"

Amazingly, Orihime managed to hold back a flinch. Her grey eyes never left his as his last words continued to ring in her ears. Her nerves wouldn't allow her to chicken out here, not after everything else that had taken place. "N-nobody...told me to. I wanted to do this...on my own..."

She swallowed, pushing down the lump that was already forming around her vocal cords. And her honesty wouldn't allow her to lie, not even in such a hostile event as the one which was occurring now. No matter if it could endanger the future of these visits-lying would only exacerbate the damage. She wouldn't lie to him. She couldn't, not if she respected him as much as she claimed to. "Well, nobody...except you. At the hospital." Her gaze softened then, memory flashing through her mind's eye. She had blamed most of the desire behind her actions on this event, but in reality she couldn't be certain, at this point, that it hadn't been triggered far before. This was just a new catalyst to repackage it with.

Worst fears confirmed. Grimmjow sank a bit in his chair. Orihime noticed the action, as well as his gaze slowly lowering, to rest his face in his palm. He hadn't replied to her statement, but he hadn't hung up, either. Was this as startling an admission for him as it was for her? It sure looked that way. And aside from malice, the man was supposedly devoid of emotion. "Grimmjow-san...?"

_It happened. It actually fucking happened._ His voice was hoarse but audible, although he did not lift his head. "Leave. I'm done today." After a few moments of contemplation, Orihime rose from her seat, to follow the guard from the room. On his end, Grimmjow was now being roused by his guards, with a distinct sense of unease; how could they possibly know what his reaction would be to this? Sure they had to contain and restrain him, but that still didn't mean they were particularly fond of being blown up at by the resident monster. "Come on, you. Happy hour's over."

In an instant, the chair was pushed back audibly; the blue haired male was now standing, towering figure turned away from his captors as he continued to stare at the empty spot beyond the plexiglass. The space where, just a few moments earlier, a human body had sat, engaging with him as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

And he had been the one to set it all in motion. Just what sort of hellish nightmare of a world did he exist in, anyways? Growling, Grimmjow finally whirled around, marching over to the door that separated the two rooms, twitching his fingers impatiently as the guards scurried to slap on the cuffs. This was probably as good a cue as any that it was time to stop second-guessing and do their damn jobs, no matter what the reaction of the party in question. He wasn't stupid enough to start a brawl.

That's what they reminded themselves of, anyway. Periodically.

Shoving him out the doors and down the hall, Grimmjow could only focus on the sounds of their shoes against the smooth tile flooring. It hadn't been a battle-hell, not even close to a fight-and yet, he couldn't help feeling a strong sense of defeat. And it was sickening to think about. Him, the almighty Pantera, defeated by the childish antics of some redheaded doll face! Not by fists or weaponry or a real combat strategy! Just her words and mannerisms. Just her very existence. Grinding his teeth, it was all he could do to keep from swinging out at the guards behind him, palpable outlets to his current crisis. Forget the fact that he was cuffed on the wrists and ankles, he'd find a way to do it! He would...he could...

_Fucking A. And I didn't even tell her off to scram this time._ His usually icy and brutal persona had been thoroughly shaken, and all Orihime had to do was open her mouth. That candy-coated charm of hers never ceased in making him queasy.

He knew she'd be back. Even if he had given her the best tongue lashing he could muster, complete with threats and stunted punches and his impressive form looming over her, he knew she'd still be back. But next time...oh, next time, things would be different. Next time, he'd be prepared. He'd be ready.

Next time, she wouldn't get a chance to pull the wool over his eyes.

That's right. Now Grimmjow was consoling himself, mind in overdrive as the defenses and rationale and logic settled back into place. So what if he'd been the one to invite her in? Big fucking whoop. He couldn't go back into the past and undo his actions-he hadn't even been conscious enough to remember what they were. And he wasn't about to go the easy route, and simply deny her access. No, that was the coward's way. He couldn't let her see him like that; couldn't allow her to think that she had won, effectively scaring him off. There was no honor in that!

He sat down once more upon the cot in his cell, chains clanking and rattling as the locks were undone, freeing his limbs for movement. Rubbing his wrist absently, he paid no mind to the pair who were now exiting his chambers, no doubt wondering on the manner of his brooding. Only mentally, though. They'd never dare to go so far as to voice it aloud. This thought soothed him, somewhat.

If Orihime wanted to play some sort of bizarre mind-fuck game with him, then he wouldn't back down. He'd given her permission to see him. That was one part of the puzzle that fell into place. The past was also a logical contributor as well, but like hell he'd ever bring those memories back to life, much less in her presence. He was looking to knock her down, not give her more fuel!

The cell door slammed shut, leaving Grimmjow alone in the semi-darkness. A manic grin was beginning to form at the corner of his lips. He'd show her.

She could keep visiting him all she wanted. It wasn't going to change anything. At the end of the day, he was the King of this seething, grisly wasteland. He had earned that title with his own two hands. Nobody else to call on but himself. No one was _ever_ going to change that. There was no humoring, no interest, no spark or compassion. She could run her lips until her throat was raw, but in the end, he'd win. Whatever her point was, he'd show her it was a damn stupid one to justify. In the end, she'd be the one to leave in frustration and submission.

Letting out a satisfied chuckle, the male leaned back against his pillow, once again content to roam the bloody fields of his mind. Of his previous ties. Of his best kills.

_Bring it on, Princess._

**...**

As she left the prison complex once more, all Orihime could see were the various flashing images of how this last visit had panned out. She couldn't yet believe that it had lasted as long as it did. Not only that, but she'd managed to actually make contact with the man underneath the tempered steel and bone exterior. He had a touch of humanity to him, after all.

He wasn't just some thug, far from it-he had a sense of humor, and he had answered her questions. Who cared if he'd been smart with his replies? All that mattered was that he'd responded. And they were real. The feedback was genuine, no matter how vitriolic.

_I d-did it...I actually did it...!_ For once, Orihime had to keep herself from skipping down the hill to the streets and the train station. She had gotten more than just a glimpse of her objective this time. She'd seen it fully, tasted it upon her tongue, felt it inside her like a growing flame. And, admitting only to herself, no one else...it felt good. Really, _really_ good.

As she paid her fare and made her way towards the platform, Orihime's mind was now swimming with ideas for what she'd do the next time they met. She was certain there would be a next time. No more of this drudging up of nerves and resolve. She was capable. She had the drive. Her mission, whatever it may have been, was not as foolish as it first seemed. That was enough to make her smile, even if no one else could see it with her head hanging down, long locks obscuring her face. She was happy.

_Let's see...I promised him those pictures, right? I'll stop at the drug store before I go home today. And...what else could I bring to him, for entertainment? Maybe he'd like to read the paper?_ As she mulled over the possibilities in her head, a cool breeze blew through the station, and the girl was suddenly reminded of the last look upon the male's face. Right at the peak of their discussion, right before his gaze had lowered, hidden by his hand as he'd ended the meeting.

"_Who the fuck told you to come and see me? **Huh**?" _The barely held back fury, as if he were staring into the eyes of an intruder, for a brief moment. Then, her words. And his expression had shattered.

Had he really not known that he was the one who'd allowed her this access? Well technically, it was the higher-ups who'd handled everything regarding permissibility and paperwork, but none of that would've even been started if it wasn't for him. Him, and that day in the hospital. That last day she'd been working the rounds, and had taken one more opportunity to visit him in his room.

Even five years later, it was still so clear in her mind. She couldn't remember if it had been fall or winter-maybe it had even been spring? Right now, she wasn't up for counting back. The details were settling into her mind's eye like a well-worn portrait, and as she closed her eyes it was as if she were actually standing in that little room once again. She could hear the sounds of her indoor shoes against the smooth floor, that faint tap they made as she crossed over in front of his bed, to sit in the chair to his right.

There were no decorations or flowers in this room. No one else inhabited it. Just him. Locked in a room all by himself, hooked up to those machines that beeped and pumped and gasped and clicked. Wires running all about, tubes running to and fro, from his still form to the consoles and standing fluid bag. It was relatively dark; the curtains were drawn, and it was well after noon. The shadows stretched out over him and his bed, stopping just short of the door, where the light from the hall began to filter in. If someone else was in the room with him, then the door had to remain open. That's what the police said.

She'd sat down in the cushioned chair, hands folded in her lap, and taken in his sleeping form, as always. His brow was creased just slightly, as if he were in the middle of a vexing dream. His thin bangs fell into his face, over his eyes, and Orihime had to resist the temptation, more than once, to push them away; brush them to the side. His deep blue eyes were closed, and she had to wonder, if only for a moment, how he would react if he awoke, and saw her sitting there before him. Perhaps he'd mistake her for an angel? This thought never ceased to make her blush. Most likely, he'd flip out.

His lips were slightly parted, revealing a hint of teeth. Her eyes would drift over, like clockwork, to the mask fragment on the side of his face. Was it removable, at all? How had it been attached in the first place? What did it signify? What was it, in general? So many questions she'd wanted to ask, but at the same time feared to imagine the consequences of voicing. And again, that near overwhelming desire to touch. To run her fingertips just so, along the edges of the jawline...around the sharp teeth...find out if it actually did open if he laughed like a maniac-upon her visits to the prison, Orihime had gotten the answer to her last inquiry, discovering that it was true.

So battered and beaten, like some kind of animal; something less than human. How could a person stand to see themselves in such a state? She couldn't even begin to imagine the amount of agony he was going through now. But she didn't have to. The bandages and visible scars on his body were more than enough. Plus, she'd heard the stories. Heard how many surgeries had been required, in order to fix the damage dealt to him in the takedown fight. How many bullets and shards of glass had been removed from his body; how many wounds had to be cleaned and sewn up tight. It made her stomach churn at the thought of how much pain he'd be in once awake-but then again, considering he'd only been cursing out the guards for getting hold of him, and not the injuries themselves, she had to wonder. Was this man so detached from any other emotion that he couldn't register his own suffering?

The minutes ticked by, and Orihime couldn't yank her gaze away from the condemned man in the bed. She couldn't be bothered to tidy up her station, or ask if there were any other calls that needed to be taken care of. Not right now. Today was it. The last day that Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez would be a patient here at her hospital. This was the last time she'd be able to tend to him like this, much less see him at all. So much time had passed since high school-he'd dropped out shortly before she'd finished her junior year-and yet, it didn't feel any different. Aside from the fact that she was now completely focused on the man who her circle of friends had once deemed "a goddamn monster."

He was a patient, and had been a former classmate. That's all it was. Nothing more, nothing less. She wasn't about to dredge up those memories-he'd probably forgotten the whole thing already-to justify her reasons any further. Again, yet another thought that had been answered, and in this case, disproven. His reaction to her focus on his scar was more than enough proof of that.

_I wonder..._and that was when it had happened. As she watched him, sleeping so contently, she was seized with that urge, that curiosity. That nagging question, that spurred on her next series of actions. _Does he...still have it? Or did it heal and disappear?_

Being a member of the medical field, Orihime should have known the answer to her thought already. But somehow, it just wasn't the same to say it in her head, than it would be to actually see...and feel the mark in question. With trepidation building, Orihime found herself slowly standing up, to carefully lean over the unconscious male.

It would only take a minute. Heck, less than that-just a few seconds! As long as she didn't wake him up, it was a simple matter of pulling down his sleeve, to look at his shoulder. That's all. Then, she'd let go, and sit back down like nothing had happened.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, as she inhaled sharply, hoping that her assets didn't brush against him unnecessarily. That was all she needed: to have a captive criminal awaken to a sight of hospital scrubs, stretched out by unintentionally prominent female anatomy. Her hand was trembling, as she timidly wrapped her fingers around the neck of his patient gown, and pulled it down towards his shoulder. His muscles protruded strikingly underneath the thin covering, and Orihime was doing all she could not to let her fingers brush against his skin. Upon seeing the revealed flesh however, she nearly fell over on top of him in shock. Her eyes were wide and her breaths shaky.

Even in the dim lighting filtering in through the off-white curtains, she could see it. A thick, dark ribbon of a scar, that wound its way around, from the corner of his collar to his shoulder, and then down to his back. This time, she couldn't hold back. She allowed her fingertips to graze it briefly, and she shivered at just how hard and cold it was underneath her hand. It had healed, yes, but...not without leaving behind a bitter reminder of what had happened before. Just another battle scar in this, the most cursed excuse of a man; this anti-hero, this one-time savior. This man who had once been a boy, just like she had been a girl. Now he was a man, and she...a young woman? Sometimes she still felt like a child, but that was neither here nor there.

Quickly pulling his sleeve back up, Orihime turned her head, standing up as she prepared to leave. The tears were starting to form at the corners of her eyes, and if she stayed here any longer she was liable to-

That was when she heard it: that faint groan. It was soft, but audible enough. She froze.

She couldn't look behind her, but she couldn't continue on. She knew that sound all too well; the sound of someone who has just regained the first hint of consciousness, and is doing their best to keep hold of it, pills and general exhaustion be damned. Orihime was trapped.

_I-I can't...I can't stay here! I can't let him see me! H-he'll kill me! Me, of all people, l-looking over him while he's asleep? Yeah, that's disaster in the making!_ She lifted one leg, to take a step forward.

"Ah!" But she was halted. Something had grabbed ahold of her wrist, effectively stopping her dead in her tracks. The scream that threatened to come forth was now being squelched down, by a driving sense of desperation and rationale. She had been caught. There was no escape. In this moment, she had one of two options: either try to flee, like a coward, and shake up the whole damn hospital in her panicked disgrace, or...she could face the music, and try to defuse the situation. In the end, Orihime chose option two.

Slowly, she turned around. She hoped that her expression wasn't nearly as fearful as she actually felt. Expecting to see a steamed Grimmjow, she began to speak softly but quickly. "Grimmjow-san, I-"

But again, she stopped. The rest of her words stuck in place on her tongue, eventually tumbling together in a pile of syllables and nonsensical sounds, as she regarded the scene before her. Her body felt strangely warm now.

Grimmjow still lay in the bed, eyes almost completely closed and face furrowed now in a look of confusion. It was an unusual sight to see, mainly because the male always seemed so cold and harsh, in charge and on top. Confusion didn't exist in his vocabulary. A lot of words didn't exist there, actually...

That wasn't the only thing that had caught Orihime off-guard, though. Glancing down, she saw that her wrist was now in the trembling-trembling?-grip of the male in question. This fact alone was enough to get her to take a step back towards the bed. "Grimmjow-san?" Her voice was hesitant, questioning.

"Don't..." It came out raspy, murmured, almost a whisper. And yet somehow, she was able to understand it. Another step back. "What is it? Don't...don't what, Grimmjow-san?" Orihime's heart was pounding like a drum, and she was amazed no one was bursting in because of the noise. It reverberated in her ears, and she forced her focus to return to the man before her, whose lips were now forming a new series of words.

"Don't...go...it's lonely...here...even Kings...get lonely..."

Orihime's flashback was interrupted by the sudden blare of a train horn and a rush of wind. Her ride had finally pulled into the station, and she was now scrambling to climb aboard. Managing to find a window seat, she leaned back against the plastic booth, hoping that everyone else on board paid her no mind, and didn't catch a glimpse of her burning cheeks. How long had she been zoning out for, anyway?

After hearing those words, Orihime couldn't turn her back on him. Her gaze had softened, and she found her own hand reaching out to stroke his gently. "Don't worry...I won't leave you, Grimmjow-san..." The words seemed to work; in a few moments, his grip had left her, hand returning to rest at his side once more. He had fallen back into slumber.

But this was a promise she intended to keep. Mustering up all of her courage, she'd gone to talk to the police officers on guard duty that day, inquiring however she could as to his future status, and visitation rights. They hadn't been wrong when they'd marked him as being sent to rot in Death Row. That didn't matter to Orihime, though. All that she cared about was not losing that connection. She'd had to fight just to get as far as she did with the visitation rights...the rest was a battle against herself.

And of course, the ultimate surprise that Grimmjow had actually okayed her to see him. It made her mind wander again; had he really no idea as to what had transpired in that room between them, or had he, for once, lied to her? She couldn't be sure.

The only thing she was certain of though, was that she hadn't made a mistake. She'd done the right thing in going after him. She knew it. No matter all that had happened before, no matter how horrible his crimes...nobody deserved to be lonely. No one deserved to fester and die, without a single person to call on as a friend...as anything.

Especially not him. Not after all that had happened between them. Not after that time.

With a soft sigh, Orihime turned her gaze towards the window, absently focusing upon the rushing scenery outside. She had to get started on planning her next visit within a month's time. There was a lot to do, and she didn't want to mess anything up.

After all, the King was expecting her.

**A/N: Whew...long chapter. Was it enjoyable? And did it make any sense?**

**Here, we have some light being shed onto a bit of Orihime and Grimmjow's past together. It's not everything, but it is something. I tried to drop a few scattered hints on the way to this update, but IDK if I pulled it off well enough. I don't want it to feel forced, or shoe-horned in.  
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**Hopefully, Grimmjow didn't come off as too soft here, either? I was trying to show that gradually, Orihime's visits and presence are beginning to have an effect on him, but he's still trying to hold onto that brutal pride of his. Also, I was doing my best not to force the GrimmHime interaction, as well-as much as we'd all like to see them together, the time is not right for anyone to be admitting any hidden feelings or the like. But it is pretty ripe to briefly acknowledge that they may be there.  
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**As always, all feedback and critique are welcomed. I look forward to hearing from all my friends here. Next time: another day in the life of Orihime. Old friends, old memories, and more shocking revelations. And the POV of an outsider...  
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**=^.^=  
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	10. Us And Them

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Us And Them**

The sunlight seemed far brighter than usual, shining down onto the relatively quiet streets of Karakura Town in the early morning.

It was promising to be a glorious spring day. Cheery and warm, but not humid as a light breeze continued to slip in and out amongst the buildings and trees, bringing with it the soft soundtrack of rustling leaves, fluttering wings and cheerful chirps high above. The streets were mostly empty, Sunday morning dawning upon the populace with an easy charm.

This was where Orihime found herself now, making her way out from suburbia and her apartment complex with purse at her side and a plastic camera in hand. Skipping along from one spot to the next, she was gradually making her way into the heart of the town. A wide smile was on her face, as she paused underneath a large tree, to take a few steps back and get a snapshot of it before moving on.

It had been nearly two weeks since her last visit with Grimmjow, and she was currently on a mission. Seeing as the previous session had gone so much better than the first two, she was determined to keep the record going. The male had left her with a valuable new starting point of information: he'd inadvertently given her permission to bring something back for him the next time they saw each other. And that something just happened to be photographs.

She could've used her cell phone to take the shots, but...there was something inside of her, that nagged her to make that stop at the drug store and pick up the little disposable camera instead. It meant more to have photos that were actually tangible, and doing things like this made her feel almost like she was playing tourist. She'd been waiting until today to undertake her mini-quest. The rest of her weeks, even the other days she'd had off or the half-days with the shorter shift hadn't been right for traveling out and capturing the current world, shot by shot. It was a special task that required full attention. She couldn't go about it half-heartedly.

Besides, her phone screen was too tiny. Grimmjow wouldn't be able to see all the extra details, like the morning sun glistening upon the leaves, or the hint of motion as they swayed in the breeze, or even the tiny bird perched upon an upper branch, singing to its heart's content.

Continuing down the road towards the main town and businesses, Orihime kept snapping away, hoping that her shots weren't too shaky or illuminated or shadowed. She wasn't a professional after all, and the camera didn't allow her to look back at the saved shots, to see how they turned out after each one. She could only wish for the best.

Taking a moment to take a pic of a building currently under construction, she felt a sudden rumble in her abdomen. Checking her phone's clock, she saw that it was after noon, thus meaning it was time for lunch. Placing the camera back into her purse for safekeeping, she took a few minutes to look around, before deciding to pick up a small boxed lunch from a convenience store. Browsing up and down the aisle to check out the selection, she finally settled on a tempura plate, some extra seasonings, and a can of green tea.

As she made her way through the doors though, about to head down another street to find a bench, a voice suddenly rang out. "Ehh? Orihime-chan, is that you?" Whirling around, the girl's grey eyes widened at the female who was now jogging up to her from the left.

"M-Matsumoto-san!" The woman who now stood before her was panting, strawberry-blonde wavy locks falling forwards as she rested her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Clad in a crisp white polo collared blouse that stopped just short of her navel, along with a pair of tight navy capri slacks and slingback sandals, she was certainly a sight for sore eyes. Her shirt did not help to hide her prominent upper assets-a fact Orihime herself could relate to, painfully-and they jiggled noticeably as the female straightened up, to flash the shorter girl a small grin. Orihime returned it with a smile of her own.

"Waaugh!" Of course, she was still nearly bowled over by the unexpected bone-crushing hug her acquaintance proceeded to place upon her, effectively smashing her chin into her ample bosom. After a few moments of rambling verbal joy, the woman released Orihime, who was just thankful her food hadn't gotten crushed in the mix. "Well, it's-I mean, wow. It's really been a while, hasn't it Matsumoto-san?"

At this, the older female scoffed, waving a hand in a dismissive fashion. "Oh please, 'Hime-chan. I told you before, call me Rangiku! Your politeness is endearing, but really. We're friends! There's no need to be so formal!" In response, Orihime nodded-the woman's comment reminded her of how Tatsuki had chided her, however mildly, those few months or so ago on the phone. To make up for the rebuttal, she decided to change the subject. "I didn't see you at the Christmas party...were you busy?"

At this, Rangiku shook her head. For a moment, her eyes seemed clouded. "Not 'busy', per se, but...well, I was taking care of a few things. Personal stuff, you know." Then, in an instant, the shadow was gone. "Besides, I doubt the gang has changed all that much since graduation. I don't think I missed anything monumental. Tell me, was there eggnog involved?" Orihime had to giggle then, briefly relaying the story of the chugging contest to the female. She rolled her eyes, but was still grinning.

"See? Told ya so." Her gaze darted down, to the small plastic bag in Orihime's hand. "Ooh, you bought something? What is it?" Determining that it was lunch, Rangiku's bright blue eyes widened in delight. "I have an idea! Give me a couple of minutes-I'll go inside and buy one, too! And then, we can eat together! It's been ages since we last talked, and I'd love to know how things are going for you now. Wait right here, okay?" Before Orihime could throw out a word edgewise, the woman had rushed inside. She sighed, going to lean against the wall of the building as she waited for her friend to return.

Matsumoto Rangiku had been one of, if not the first of the friends Orihime had made upon starting college. Bubbly and outgoing, she'd been quite helpful in teaching her the ups and downs of the new school life, as well as being a steady confidant, particularly after Tatsuki had left, even with the noticeable gap between their ages. But once she'd graduated, they'd drifted in and out of contact, more so when Orihime had gone on to pursue her studies in medicine. Last she knew, Rangiku had been interested in a possible modeling career, and had been holding down a job as secretary at a local business. She wondered if that was still the case.

"Alright, I got the goods! Now let's go and chow down!" Orihime was startled from her musings by the sound of a sliding door, and Rangiku's infectious tones, as she waved a plastic bag in her left hand. Smiling in return, the smaller girl fell into step beside her enthusiastic companion, letting her lead the way. It wasn't like she'd had any specific destination in mind when she'd left the store with food in tow.

"It's such a beautiful day! A wonderful day for coincidences, ne Orihime-chan?" Stretching her arms above her head, Rangiku gave another dazzling smile to the redhead beside her. "Let's go sit at the park, huh? It'd be a shame to coop ourselves up on a day like this." Orihime couldn't argue with the logic, responding with an "Okay" and a new bounce to her steps.

Amazingly, even with the weather being as beautiful as it was, the park was pretty quiet, fields mostly devoid of sunbathers and eager bodies in motion. The benches were vacant as well, and from a distance one could make out that the playground equipment was empty, too. It wasn't a school day, so Orihime couldn't fathom why things were so still and silent. Maybe the adolescents were hanging out at the local arcades, or each others houses, instead of taking advantage of the glorious weather. It was a sad but true fact. Things had changed so much since her youthful days.

"Here we go." They proceeded to sit down upon a stone bench that rested beneath a large tree, effectively shaded and cool to the touch, but still within view of the major points of interest. Orihime watched as her companion pulled out and opened her boxed lunch-a mixture of cone sushi and teriyaki strips, with some lotus root and daikon on the side. Rangiku then began to produce a handful of sauce packets, spreading them over the various items. Like Orihime, she too had a taste for the unique when it came to edibles. The girl herself had added a few extra condiments to her bag before paying up and leaving.

"Ooh, what did you get, Orihime-chan? It looks good! Can I have a taste? Here, here-try a bite of mine. That'll make it even!" The conversation went on along this vein for the next few minutes, both consuming their meals and bringing up a word or two relating to the food on their laps.

Eventually though, as the lunch disappeared and the noon hour stretched on, discussion soon began to give way to other topics, such as how long it had been since they'd last talked, yet again-"I hope you didn't lose my number, hon!"-and how the high life of modeling wasn't as easy to fall into as Rangiku had thought, looks notwithstanding. "The dates aren't always easy to make, and photographers can be really temperamental if you miss too many of them...but it wasn't like I slept through my alarms on _purpose_!"

She'd let out an exaggerated sigh at this, leaning back with her hair tumbling over the edge of the bench. "And of course, none of this is very surprising to Hitsugaya-san...he's still as stiff and repressed as always, even after being employed to him for how many years now. I'm trying to get him to loosen up, but you know how he is-thinks I've got some sort of ulterior motive up my sleeves." She shook her head. "Sorry, but as much as I admire him, I don't go for child prodigies." Orihime simply nodded to all of this, chopsticks seemingly forgotten as they stuck out from the corner of her mouth. The piece of shrimp she'd been munching on was long gone, with only a few bits of sticky rice remaining.

"But. Enough about my personal woes!" Pressing her palms to her knees, Rangiku looked at Orihime with a new focus, reaching across to pry the sticks from between her lips and place them in her hands. "How have things been on your end? I trust you've been doing well in the medical field?"

"Ah? Oh, yeah-yeah, it's been going good! I work under a doctor by the name of Unohana-she's really nice, and very skilled. I've been employed at the main hospital for the past five years. It's hard work, but really rewarding, too." When her companion let out a low whistle, obviously awed by her current prowess, Orihime found her smile becoming sheepish. It wasn't that big of a deal, really-there were many other people in her profession who'd had to tackle far worse than she did. And they'd been on staff only half as long as she!

"You were always so smart in school, Orihime-chan. I wouldn't have expected any less!" At this, Rangiku clapped her on the back, which may not have been a wise move, seeing as her companion was now trying to hide her embarrassment behind another serving of seasoned rice and battered sweet potato. Orihime nearly wound up choking on the chopsticks.

After a spat of coughing and apologies, followed by red-faced assurances of health and gulps of cold tea, Orihime was back to her normal state, and Rangiku was once more fixing her with a quizzical stare. "So, aside from work...how's your social life? Been keeping up with all your friends?" Now, her expression of curiosity was softened by that ever-familiar smile.

The girl felt her heart sink, just a bit. Not that the subject was particularly painful, but she knew what it would lead to. It was a precursor to that single question that seemed to be on the forefront of everyone's minds when it came to her. "Um, things have been going well. Mostly, I've been so busy with work, I haven't had a chance to hang out as often as I used to. That, and with Tatsuki-chan being away...well, you know. Heh heh..." She reached up, to tuck a strand of hair away from her face, and Rangiku let out a chuckle.

"We should try to change that one of these days. If you get a free moment, call me up. I'm always ready for anything." The older female's offer was genuine, kindness reflecting in her blue eyes as she placed her hand briefly atop Orihime's. "Besides, a girl like you shouldn't be so shut in all the time." Now, that sweetness was beginning to turn playful. "We could go and hit up a few bars, have some drinks. Maybe grab a couple of dances." She was now picking up the remains of her lunch, tucking the empty box back into the bag. "Who knows? You might even make some new friends-or more. It's a possibility." This time she giggled, growing louder at seeing the color that crept into Orihime's cheeks. "Unless you're already interested in someone else?"

By this point, her can of tea was near empty. But that didn't stop the girl from bringing it to her lips, in a futile gesture to avoid the subject. Perhaps by muffling her voice, she could deter Rangiku's attention to her social life, particularly of the male persuasion? "W-well, I mean-not really, like I said, I've been busy-and besides, no one's interested, and even if he _was_-"

It was just a slip. But that's all it took. The can was swiftly yanked away from her mouth, and Rangiku's eyes were gleaming with a new luster. "I heard 'he'. Who's the lucky fellow?" Inwardly, Orihime was cursing her nerves, and her doggoned honest streak. Even when she was trying to change the subject, the truth still came sneaking out, however minutely. And Rangiku had pounced on that like a cat to a mouse. And why was _that_ the first metaphor that came to mind here, anyway...?

Orihime shook her head, not wanting to wind up revealing things even she herself didn't understand fully. Not yet, anyway. And certainly not to Rangiku. Tatsuki may have been her best friend, but she knew when to inquire, and when to back off. This woman was not nearly so restrained, and had no fear of pushing through to get what she wanted. Even if it wasn't done maliciously, it was still forceful. And Orihime wasn't one to say no to a friend-even Tatsuki had wound up audience to a version of the truth, however lacking in details it may have been. "Believe me Matsumoto-san, it's not-"

"Ah-ah-ah!" Now the bustier woman was wagging a finger in Orihime's face, a playful smile upon her lips. "I already said enough with the formality. That just proves you've got something to hide." She pouted slightly. "Come on, Orihime-chan! You can trust me! Besides, who on Earth would I tell, anyway?" Leaning closer, the smaller redhead could now see that Rangiku was attempting to pull the puppy dog eyes tactic on her.

"I wanna know...you're always so sheltered and introverted-but you've also got one of the biggest hearts around! If someone's managed to catch your eye like this, then they've gotta be someone special!" Her lower lip was quivering slightly, as she held her clasped hands to her chest. For all her womanly charms, Rangiku was still just as youthful in nature as Orihime, if not perhaps more so. Now the girl was musing carefully over her next choice of words-she couldn't lie, yes, but she also didn't want to give away too much. There was no overt romance going on here, he was just...someone memorable. But he wasn't someone most people would expect her to care for, either. She didn't want to have Rangiku worrying over her safety or sanity.

Orihime took in a deep breath. "Well, I..." Rangiku watched her eagerly. "I mean, it's not...a relationship. I don't 'like' him...like that." The girl chose to ignore the twang in her heart, continuing on. "He's somebody...well, we used to know each other-a long while ago. But most people-erm, the people I knew, they didn't...care much for him. He wasn't the kind of guy...they'd like to see me with." Rangiku's brow furrowed at this, but she didn't interrupt.

There was a big piece of the story that Orihime was hiding, but there was no way to express it and expect it to go over smoothly. It wasn't a lie, just...one missing puzzle shard. One that nobody even knew existed, as tightly woven as it did. You couldn't hide something that wasn't supposed to exist, right? "And then, you know...high school comes and goes, and we lost contact-though we didn't have much to begin with. B-but then, a few years ago...I found him again. And I-I don't know, but...here I am now, visiting him, on my own. We're just friends...yet I can't tell anyone. I don't know how they'd react."

The female chuckled softly, a hint of saddened nerves evident in her tone. "I always thought that...my friends and I would be together forever. But how long is forever, anyway? It's a secret, and then again, it's not meant to be...it just isn't meant to be." Orihime bit thoughtfully at her lower lip; she hadn't expected things to come tumbling out the way they had. Did it really bother her so much, that she couldn't tell her friends about Grimmjow? For whatever reason, it didn't bother her what he was: a criminal. A murderer. But it haunted her to no end that no one in her old circle, if they knew, would trust her judgment, much less continue allowing her to see him as she did. They couldn't physically restrain her, but there was always the good old guilt trip. And if that were put into play...

"Orihime." The sudden call startled her. Looking back up at her companion, the younger girl could only imagine what the woman was thinking, in relation to what she'd just told her. Perhaps she was going to scold her for being so foolish, and putting her friendships at risk? Or placing herself in what sounded to be a potentially dangerous situation?

But if she thought Rangiku was going to chew her out, it was only too evident that there was much to the woman that was still a mystery, friendship be damned. The expression on her face was one of heartbreaking empathy, as if she could hear every last thought running through Orihime's mind. The girl almost drew back at this; how could such a story elicit these kinds of emotions? All throughout her life, she was used to keeping quiet and never burdening, never placing expectations on those around her, only herself.

Forcing the pain down, down-lying by omission. But if it didn't exist, if you kept telling yourself again and again "It doesn't hurt", then it wasn't really there, right...?

"Let me tell you a story of mine." The sudden statement quelled Orihime's conflicting thoughts instantly, as she turned her focus entirely towards her companion. "It's about a girl, who was forced to grow up fast in a world where she didn't have much. No family, no friends, no shelter. Day in and day out, this little girl was always fighting to survive, questioning her very existence.

"Then one day, when she was feeling at her very worst, wondering how she was ever going to get up again out of the dirt-just out of the blue, she met a boy. A strange boy, quite unlike any other she'd known. An unusual appearance and quirky personality. But he was a nice boy nonetheless. He made her laugh, and helped her pick herself up...gave her a new chance at life. Sure, she gained food, shelter, and a whole new bunch of experiences to learn from. But of all the things she received in her life from that point on, her most prized was the boy himself. He had become her friend."

Although she was doing a good job of hiding it, the misty tears were still managing to creep into Rangiku's eyes, casting a watery luster to their brilliant blue shade. "Though, like all good things, it had to end...the girl met a new family, and she and this boy were separated. For years afterwards, she wondered what had become of her childhood friend, this boy who had seemingly gone out of his way to help her, yet never showed nearly as much care or devotion to anyone else. She wondered and wondered...until once again, like magic, their paths crossed. The girl was oh so happy-now she could be with her dearest friend again."

Her eyes narrowed. "But the boy...was not the same. Although he still remembered her; still expressed care and fond feelings towards her, his demeanor...before, he had merely been a loner. Watching all, but never speaking. Now, he was nothing short of a monster. This time, he wasn't alone of his own choosing. He was alone because nobody else dared to come near him. He'd strike out, faster than you could blink. And no one could do anything about it, either.

"The girl was torn, between her feelings for her friend and those who currently surrounded her. 'Leave him be', they said. 'He's a bad seed', they said. 'Don't go throwing yourself after him-he's not worth it', they told her. But as much as she cared for them...she couldn't turn her back on him. They grew up, him still becoming ever more distant, and the girl, now a woman, struggling to follow him like in the days of their youth. But the farther she traveled, the more lost she wound up. The harder it was to keep her life together-and the boy, now a man, danced further away from her grasp."

Her tone had taken on a hard edge to it, as she stared up bitterly at the vibrant sunlight. "It wasn't too far before your time-in fact, it probably took place while you were still in school. You know of the underworld, yes? This man had fallen under their sway, lured by whatever promises they had offered him. He was now one of the founders of the Espada." Rangiku looked over quickly at Orihime, as if daring her to say something. The girl was presenting a straight, if rather paled face, but inside, her emotions were in a tizzy.

_S-she...that was...that was Grimmjow-san's gang! She knew...the people who started it?_ With a sharp stab of fear and pity, Orihime realized that Rangiku's personal tale was far closer to her current experience than she could have ever imagined.

"She didn't even know what the whole purpose was of him tangling with the likes of them. He said she wouldn't understand, but it wasn't because she was stupid. It was because of the fact that he was throwing away so much, for some quest that made no sense outside the confines of his own mind. She cared for him, she really did-she didn't want to see him fall. He'd helped her once. And this time, if he was going down...then she'd go with him. He meant that much to her."

Letting out a long sigh, the woman shook her head. "But in the end, she couldn't save him. He pushed her aside, and when she finally came to...he was gone."

The third person narrative was at long last dropped, though the younger girl had known all along where this tale was coming from. "He died. They found him in an alley, stabbed clean through. I was the one who got the phone call, seeing as, aside from those junkies, he didn't have anyone else. I had to be the one to identify him. I know it was their doing...for whatever reason, they killed him. Maybe he didn't do his 'job' right just one time, or something else. The last time we saw each other, he was trying so hard to cut me off...to be cruel, and cold." Orihime was struck by the desire to reach over, and hug her friend tightly. But she held back, unsure if the action would be welcomed or regarded with hostility.

"It hurt, worse than anything else I could remember going through. But still, there was something inside, something telling me...it was just an act. Even as he'd lashed out, and struck me without hesitation. Even as I fell to the floor." As she continued watching Rangiku fight to finish her story, Orihime could hold back no longer. Leaning over, she wrapped her arms around the older woman's upper body.

And Rangiku returned the contact in a second. "I'm sorry..." It was all Orihime could say. It wasn't much, but she had to say something. Such heart-wrenching memories that she had chosen to share with her. The younger female was humbled and awed by the amount of trust Rangiku had placed in her.

Releasing her companion after a few moments, Rangiku began dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a napkin. Those pesky tears were sill trying to push their way through. "He never left behind a trace-no mementos, only memories. But I wasn't allowed to live in them, to wallow. I had to move on. That was intentional on his end, I think. Whatever his motivation...he didn't want me to be frozen in time. No matter how much I loved him.

"In the end, it all comes down to the person. Whatever they decide to do with their life is their choice. No matter how much it hurts to admit it, we can only control ourselves. We can't force people to walk the path that we think is good for them. And sometimes, those choices they make go beyond any reasoning we can understand."

Cupping Orihime's face in her hands, Rangiku was staring straight into her grey eyes unflinchingly. "But if I had to do it all over again, I'd do it. Exactly the same. Because a life without him wouldn't be a life worth living. No matter how far I'd have to fall again, just to follow his footsteps in the snow...no matter what anyone else may think." She brushed a stray strand of hair from the younger redhead's line of vision.

"If this is what your heart is telling you, then I say go for it. No one has the right to tell you what to do with your life, or who to share it with. But on that end...you can't expect others to change for you, no matter how badly you want that happy ending. So it rests on you, to ask yourself: can I still live with, and love this person, even knowing what they are, and what they've done? If you can answer that question honestly...you've got a shot at something, whatever it may be."

The silence that followed was almost thick enough to blot out the sun. The warmth and light barely registered in Orihime's senses, as Rangiku stood up, trash in one hand, while the other was extended down towards her. She was smiling again, gentle and knowing. How much she actually knew was a question that might never be answered...but Orihime didn't mind. Everything that had been spoken today was more than enough. She took the woman's hand in hers, rising to her feet.

"Let's go cheer ourselves up, huh? We can grab some coffee, my treat. There's a nice cafe not too far from here. And you can tell me all about that little camera you were holding before." Nodding, Orihime followed her companion, ignoring the last comment to marvel at just how strong and steadfast Rangiku truly was, even with all she'd been through. When it came to herself...could she really be that honest, that unapologetic? Was she as confident in her actions and intentions as she'd first thought, simply reaching out to this strange tapestry of a man?

_I...I don't know._ For a brief moment, her brow furrowed, and she looked down. There was a second of hesitance, and the plastic bag swung from her hand, to and fro just like her fickle heart. Then...

_Whatever the answer may be, I won't hide from it. For now, I'll continue...living as I see fit. And sharing that life with those...those who mean something to me._ So Grimmjow _was_ important to her. That much was a given. Would she ever know exactly why, though? Or how? Again, the bag swung between her fingers. Perhaps she could look back one day, at those memories that weren't supposed to be...and find the solution there.

It was just a matter of being truly honest. A concept which Orihime still struggled with. Because how could you acknowledge something that wasn't supposed to _be_ there?

**A/N: Oh, man...lots and lots of drama in this chapter. Hope it goes over well...**

**So. The new character introduced was Rangiku. Did it fit, or should it have been someone else instead? Should this sequence not have happened at all? IDK, I just...I kinda wanted Orihime to open up a little more about what was going on, and get a somewhat different response to it all. And for some reason-maybe it's the particular storyline, but...I could see Rangiku's history kinda/sorta falling in line w/'Hime's own...?  
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**IDK. IRDK. I had a lot of thoughts while writing/editing this chapter. But oh well. It's been posted now, so...any and all feedback is welcomed and appreciated. ^^  
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**Next time: Grimmjow's POV. Some new realizations, the revelation of how he came to be on Death Row, and an ass-whooping. That's all you need to know. :) Take care, everyone.  
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	11. Walk

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Walk**

What could possibly be worse than being bored and alone? Being bored in a crowd.

As the noonday sun shone down upon the complex, various uniformed figures shuffling about the fenced courtyard like whipped dogs, Grimmjow felt, for the first time, a true sense of agitation while being among these people, who really shouldn't have fazed him at all in their existence. He'd already been here five years, and had become used to them; it wasn't much different out on the streets. Once they knew who he was, knew his name, that's all it took. Like wildfire, the fear would spread. And no one would take that chance of pissing him off.

But now, things were different. As his deep blue eyes roamed around the rogues gallery laid before him-men from all walks of life, being gathered to live out the rest of their lives until a court ordered death-all he could feel was a gradually building aggravation, and disgust. Like these people, if he could call them as such, weren't fit to breathe the same air as him.

He'd catch bits and pieces of their conversations as they walked by his bench; some were truly meaningless, like 'friends' sharing tales from the outside, or lone loonies muttering to themselves about God and dogs eating cats whole outside their windows. But then there were the others...the ones who were so desperate to prove that they were still as tough in here as they thought they were outside. The ones who allowed shit to freely dribble from their lips, like a child discovering naughty words for the first time. He hated it.

Yeah, he hadn't wanted to go to prison, but in the end, he didn't get a say! His own boss, with all his connections and whatnot, had ratted him out. Passed him off to the authorities like yesterday's garbage. He could still remember every last detail, every piece of information about that mission...which was fated to be his last, under the reigning underworld head known as Sosuke Aizen.

There had been a prominent man, both in the town community and the underbelly of Karakura. His father had been well-connected with the bosses of yesteryear, as well as the public, and as such that privilege had passed on down to him. But there was just one problem:

He didn't know how to repay his debts. And now, he was dealing with Aizen. Unlike the previous gangsters, who'd been too afraid to implicate themselves in the demise of such a beloved character with deeply lined pockets and even deeper connections to the mindless masses, Aizen felt differently. If his services, the services of his Espada, were called upon, then the caller must be ready and willing to pay up-no matter the price. And this man had broken that contract far too many times. He still thought that he was living in his father's shadow, protected by the specters of the past.

Not anymore. The order had been sent out, with no hesitation. Grimmjow recalled how his boots had crunched across the darkened grassy lawn, and over the gravel path, as he made his way towards the large manor. Sosuke Aizen was not a man to be crossed. He was willing to do anything and everything to be number one, including things that his acquaintances and predecessors wouldn't dare try. Things like manhunts and law enforcement did little to sway his ego with fear.

He'd sent out his very best, his bloodiest, to leave behind a clear message to everyone. Friend or foe, that night when Grimmjow had kicked down the door and marched inside, he had paid no mind to the security system that blared like an air-raid siren in the still evening, or the thought of cops swarming the scene within fifteen to twenty minutes, or even the shouting that had turned to screaming soon enough, from the lips of a balding family man, his wife, and children. He had a mission to complete.

Aizen owned this town. And nobody was immune to his wrath.

The instructions were simple: kill everyone inside. Don't leave behind a single witness. Make it bloody and wretched, but leave no evidence. And be out before the police hit. It was normal routine for Grimmjow; he could do these massacres in his sleep. In and out. In and out. Grab and stab. Slit. Slice. Spread. Tear. The bodies had begun to pile up within five minutes of his arrival.

One of the children, a male of about sixteen, had made a valiant effort to stop the Pantera's attack on his family, blindly swinging a metal baseball bat in his direction. But he'd been easily disarmed and sent flying with a left hook, before meeting the same fate as his two parents. Grimmjow remembered the way the light had drained from his eyes, just as quickly as the color, while the blood continued to pour out profusely from the jagged slash in his throat. It was already pooling and sinking through the lush oriental rug on the living room floor.

The second child, a girl of no more than twelve, had gone running as soon as the mayhem began. But it wasn't too hard to find her afterwards; she'd gone scurrying into a closet upstairs in what seemed to be her bedroom, all girly and young and untouched by misery. She was huddled in a little ball in the back, hoping and praying that 'the big mean man' would be scared away by the alarms and her parents and brother. Her prayers went unanswered.

Eight minutes. Not bad at all. The cops wouldn't be here for at least another ten. He could hang around for maybe three, take a few deep breaths and savor his handiwork-

And that was when he heard it. That unmistakeable sound, from the room directly to his right: a sniffle.

Someone else was in this house. That's all he needed to know. But as his steely blue gaze roved over the partially opened doorway, it locked with wide brown eyes and tear-stained cheeks, peering at him with all the horror of a rabbit about to be turned into wolf chow. Another child, no older than seven. Maybe even only five?

He took a step forwards. It was a part of his job, right? To leave no survivors. This brat was a member of the family, and no matter the age, it was his duty to take them out. To kill them. A witness was a witness.

And yet...as he continued to stare at that tiny, knowing gaze just a few feet away, something stopped him. Kept him from completing that walk, and snapping the child's neck in two. Something deep inside of him, held down by the weight of his existence until this precise moment in time.

One had gotten away. _One_ had gotten away. Once before, there had been an escape. And he had allowed it. Hell, he'd orchestrated it! He couldn't lie; it had been his spontaneous idea. He'd let them go, completely altering the course of plans that had been set at that time for a specific goal and purpose. But the best part?

No matter how contrary it had been to him, he'd never gotten in trouble for it. He'd never had to face any sort of judgment or punishment. He'd gone on, same monster as he always was, with the knowledge that he'd let one go, one face, one potential victim, for his own unfathomable reasons. Was history repeating itself?

It sure seemed that way, as his ears picked up on the faint whine of sirens, off in the distance. Cops.

His choice was made. Storming off, he'd broken his way out of that sickly rich mansion and back into the pitch black of the night and surrounding trees. Let that kid babble to the cops about seeing some kind of 'blue monster'. Let the pigs make of that what they would. He'd gotten the basic idea across, that Aizen and his Espadas weren't a group to be trifled with or taken lightly. Wait until the rest of the gangs got wind of this-they'd shit bricks out of pure terror! And a traumatized kid, the only survivor of such a brutal attack, incoherent and scarred for life, would be the best final touch to this masterpiece of destruction.

In the shadows of the trees and foliage, Grimmjow had grinned to himself, that familiar smirk of devilish delight. Another job well done.

Or, it would have been...except for one teeny, tiny detail.

The kid _hadn't_ been so traumatized as to be unable to identify the culprit as a large man with shocking blue locks, a ghastly jaw mask and a penchant for blood. This was all the cops needed to hear. They'd been so desperate to unravel the Espada for years, and now, with this witness placing one of his highest ranking-but usually untouchable-lackeys at the scene, they could use it to trace back to Aizen himself. His reign of terror would soon be over.

_That_ was when Grimmjow's world fell apart. Turns out that killing off a witness was more trouble than simply turning tail on one of his own. That, and the cops actually weren't so interested in justice as they were simply in a new face to throw into a cell and a name to log down in the record books of history. Add in a good few bucks on his end, and you had yourself one sweet deal: a criminal in exchange for a closed case-no pursuing the ringleader, just letting his lower level take all the blame as a random, unconnected assault. The cops could be just as crafty as the monsters they chased after, if you knew where to look. In short, Grimmjow was sold out.

But. As much as it boiled his blood to know this, to know that smug bastard was still wheeling and dealing without so much as a second thought, he had to at least take solace in the fact that he hadn't gone down without a fight. If he'd had his way, he would've died before they'd finally managed to slap the cuffs on him. And in the end, he still wound up with the ultimate sentence.

Death Row. The worst of the worst. He was more than notorious now.

He had fought, with every fiber in his being, to go down in a blaze of glory. Not crying and pleading for his life in some corner like a fucking coward. If you could dish it out, then you had to be able to take it, too. And suicide was never an option. He'd come this far by his own two hands, yes, but that didn't mean he wanted to use them for such a purpose. To have to slink into Hell with his tail between his legs, admitting that he hadn't had the balls to do the time and face his Maker like a man-that was beyond disgraceful. At least this way, he'd always be able to say he fought it. And by separating himself from these numb-nuts, he was helping to prove that point.

They could whine and parade around all they wanted. It wouldn't change the facts. In the end, they were stuck here. This was their grave. They were just too terrified to admit it.

Relishing his last kills didn't make him weak-he knew he'd never get those days back. The memories were all that remained, and they were what would be playing through his mind when the judgment day arrived. He had earned his death, and his status. What reason did he have now to return to that world? Even revenge seemed petty; you'd only get one chance to kill somebody, and then what?

When it was all over, what would he do? Go back to working as a personal thug? Fuck that! Here, he was regarded not by who he'd served under, but by his own name. The carnage he'd left behind. The fear he could inspire with just one look. He was the motherfucking Pantera, and by God did he like it! Maybe in another life...hell, _he_ could've been the big boss! Found some grunts to do his dirty work...if he didn't get too much of a kick out of it himself.

Still, it was pretty annoying, if he were to look back on it for even a moment...remembering his downfall, from walking terror of the streets to a number in a cell. And it had all come down to that same situation: letting one go. Just that one. It couldn't _possibly_ come back to bite him in the ass.

These thoughts rushed through his mind as he surveyed the crowds with disengagement. Every day, at noon, just like clockwork: they'd call out the cells, block by block, and let them into the courtyard. After fifteen minutes of 'free reign', they'd call them back, and line them up in order, to file in group by group, ushered into their cages once more. The same routine. It had never really bugged him before, though; why was it choosing now, of all times, to push his buttons? Especially since it was the only time he got any real fresh air in this place, walls and chains be damned.

_Don't tell me...I've actually grown **used** to that nitwit's visits? _Nowadays, it seemed like he could never escape the thought of her, that red-haired enigma who had succeeded in coaxing him out, if only to battle in this bizarre game of wits she'd set up. Sure, she'd entered his mind on more than one occasion, particularly when those letters had shown up sporadically, but now? He couldn't get away from her. Every time he shut his eyes, her face was all he saw.

That face, and those misty grey eyes, and that delicate, inviting smile. That smile that told him...what? What did it say? How did he feel when he saw it? He never had anyone look at him that way before.

A being so pure and unspoiled as she; untouched by the world's corruption and filth. What could she possibly be expecting to gain from associating with the likes of him? Was she merely slumming? Or was there some deeper meaning to all this, a reason that he could not-or would not-ever come close to understanding? Why was she wasting her time on him? Didn't she have better things to do than entertain a jailbird's fantasies-

_Hold it. _His brow furrowed into that familiar scowl._ I do __**not**__ think of her like that!_ As far as he was concerned, women were far more trouble than they were worth. Outside, sure-he'd gotten his rocks off with the occasional lay, but once it was all over? That was it. Unless the female in question wanted to be added to his ever-rising body count, for being too damn clingy?

This woman, or girl-this 'Orihime', she was no different. No, in fact-she was a helluva lot different, in the sense that he'd never touched her, not ever. Not in that way. Nor had he ever even remotely considered it. She was too clean for him, too safe, too boring. What could she give him that he couldn't have gotten from any other woman, and then some?

His lips curved upwards then, just slightly. Well, maybe, just maybe...it'd be interesting to see her in bed? Maybe underneath it all, there was a wild animal, a sex kitten, waiting to come out? Knowing how much of a goody-goody she was though, he couldn't even be certain that she'd ever slept with anyone before. Sure didn't seem like it, what with how she still acted so childish and naïve and uptight and-

But his increasingly lurid thoughts were distracted by the faintest traces of a conversation his keen ears picked up on the wind; a pair of males were seated on a tabletop not too far away from him, muttering to themselves, unacknowledged by anyone but he. After the way he'd grown up, not even silence was enough to hide from him and his predatory instincts. That icy gaze would be upon you before you knew it, and it was up to you then to decide whether to provoke and lie, or lie and hide...or continue on, oblivious. It was a three way tie between all options, he'd come to discover in his lifetime.

"So...what's the scoop? Heard them guards have been pretty chatty these last few months?" The first male, slightly tanned with greasy hair that reached his shoulders and a hint of five o'clock shadow, was leaning forwards towards his companion, a pale male with a dirty blonde buzz cut. His hands were in his lap, while the other gripped at his knees, rocking back and forth in his seat.

"Oh, yeah. Lots of news been going 'round this place; they're so fuckin' noisy when they think we're all zonked out and off in dreamland. Ha." The second male spat, bitter grin tugging at his thin, chapped lips. "Some orders been trickling down from the higher ups, 'bout a few cases that may finally be put on the table later this year. Dates, you know?" The first man's eyes widened.

"Really? Any leads as to the unlucky bastards?" The blond shook his head. "They mentioned four or five in numbers, but other than that, nothing. Cheap pigs, always cuttin' off when the story's just getting good." He spit again, and the sight was enough to make Grimmjow want to reach over and rip his tongue out. Not that he didn't spit on occasion, mind you, but overkill was overkill. And he had no desire to stomp through some jack-off's drool. Even he had standards. Unless the jerk was chewing tobacco, then there was no excuse.

"Aw, man. And here I was lookin' forward to finally mebbe being rid of a few pesky fucks." The longer haired male sighed, before chuckling softly. "Anything else of interest on the radar?"

This time, the blond's wretched smile widened. "Yeah, actually. Same topic gets tossed around, fer as long as I can recall. Somebody here-no idea who, they're always so hush-hush with the names-has apparently, gotten themselves a visitor." His partner's eyes widened. "And whoever they are, _she's_ a sight to remember." Now the other male's interest was fully piqued. "A woman visitor, you say? Now this is interesting. Tell me more."

The blond licked his lips, a leer beginning to form on his features. "Whoever she is, she's obviously a looker. And real crazy, too-she's been visiting with one o' our more deranged friends here. No names, but she sounds like one of them homespun types. Good girl, never done a day o' hard time in her life, practically a saint. Comes from the high life, but is so fucking sweet ya can't help but like her." He shook his head. "Broad must be nuts. This is the last place a chick like her would consider coming to, under normal circumstances." Spitting once more, he turned back to his partner, a sneer on his lips.

"Man, what I wouldn't give for five minutes alone with a woman like that." The other male's expression had grown just as perverse, as his dull brown eyes lit up with the first hint of light. "You think she's ever been with a man?"

"Who knows. If so, not a real one, that's fer sure. Guys like us, we'd wreck that chick. Heh." He made a curving motion in the air with his hands. "A tiny frame, but with full proportions-a rack and a rear, lips, eyes, and long red hair-that's a woman to die for. That's how they described her, anyway. Whoo boy, if you'da seen me that night, I was all over the place! Nearly broke my wrist!" His companion laughed, bumping him with his elbow. "So, what would you do if you ever got a chance to catch her?"

"Make good use of them assets of hers, that's fer sure." The blond spit yet again. "Pin her to the wall, strip her down, and make full use of that body o' hers. You think angels know how to give good head?" At this, both parties laughed.

"They might. Or, you could just have fun finding out all the different ways she's never been fucked before. Ride that pussy like a rodeo horse, brand her for yourself!" Now they were both laughing uproariously, unaware of the hulking shadow rising up steadily behind them. "Maybe even grab a fistful of that long hair o' hers, and-"

The last words didn't make it out of the dark-haired man's mouth. He was silenced instantly by a well-aimed fist to the face. Gagging, he fell back over the table, blood spraying from his mouth and nose, as his partner looked on in rage and horror. "W-what the fu-"

He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence. Rough hands grabbed ahold of his collar, hauling him to his feet, and then above the ground. Kicking and squirming, the man tried to get his attacker to release him, only to freeze up at the sight of two narrowed, deadly dark midnight blue eyes.

"You know..." Grimmjow began, in a low, tight voice laced with hatred, "you might wanna think _real_ hard next time before you go spoutin' off about things you don't understand. It could save your life one day." He brought his face closer to the shocked and petrified male's, letting out his last words in a snarling hiss. "From me." And with that, he smashed his forehead into the blond's face with a sickening crack, before throwing his body aside like it was suddenly electrified.

By this point, the chatter in the courtyard had ceased, and a crowd had formed around the trio of bodies. Well, two were bodies. The third was now stalking back to his seat, licking the blood from his fist as he wiped his brow. He sat down, eyes scanning the onlookers with fresh rage. The guards were coming, and it was all on them how the situation was going to be handled. Who would be man enough to admit he was a rat, and turn in the almighty Pantera? His gaze was just daring the spectators to talk, and thus bear the brunt of his still seething wrath.

As the guards finally drew in though, examining the unconscious figures in a flurry, not a single soul said anything, even as the guards started hollering and pushing for information. "Who did this, huh? Who thinks he's the big man on campus here? Come on, out with it! We want names!"

But the crowds were dispersing, returning to their previous places or activities, leaving the guards alone with two limp inmates, and one Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez. The head of the bunch marched up to him, sunglasses gleaming under the sun as he pushed his shoulder roughly. "Jeagerjaquez! You saw who did this?"

Without missing a beat, the man brought his interwoven fingers up to his lips, leaning forwards as his elbows rested upon his thighs. "No, sir. Not a _thing_."

After a few more seconds of quiet scrutiny, the guard backed off, to help the others move the bodies to the side before calling for medics. Grimmjow continued staring off at the rest of the group, who threw nervous glances his way every so often when they thought he wasn't paying attention. But he was.

_**That's** what you get for messin' around with someone else's prey. Fuckers._

**A/N: And there you have it, the revelation of how Grimmjow came to be on Death Row. Along w/some interesting insight, a minor history lesson, and, of course, the promised ass-kicking from last chapter. How was it?**

**Yes, Grimmjow's no angel. He's been through the ringer, and left behind quite the bloody trail. This was never meant to be a typical 'good girl/bad boy' romance fable. I wouldn't even classify it as romantic in any way. It's dark, twisted and explores both the strengths and flaws to the main characters. If any of this was too much for any reader to handle...I wouldn't suggest continuing on. Even I got a bit iffy at writing it, no matter how it fit w/the storyline. It just gets heavier from here on in.**_  
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**We can see here now though, that, in his own way, Grimmjow does care for Orihime, even if he has a rather...brutal way of showing it. His feelings do run further than just mere lust, even if he won't admit it. But it's not yet time for them to wind up together-that comes later. _Way_ later. There's still some secrets to be revealed, and hurdles to be jumped. And even then, things are still very tangled...**

**Next time: confrontation. A face from Orihime's past makes themselves a part of her present-and the outcome isn't happy. Choices must be made...and sometimes, we have to stand up for ourselves under the strangest of circumstances. You'll see what I mean. Later.  
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	12. Blue Monday

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Blue Monday**

The sun was particularly warm this day, as the late summer shadows stretched out across the roads and pavements. Buildings seemed to tower in the noonday heat, as bodies shuffled to and from each destination with simple purpose and energy. It was just another day in Karakura Town.

Walking down the street from the train station, Orihime could feel the hints of sweat beginning to form upon her brow under the warmth. She'd just gotten off her shift for the day, and was ready to relax at home in her room, shut out from the rest of the world. She had some planning to take care of, anyway.

Since her day with Rangiku back in the spring, she'd had three more visits with Grimmjow at the prison, each within the span of a month's time. As they continued to pass on, more progress had been made between the pair-or at least, within her eyes. It was enough to make her head spin, and her heart swim. She'd been so uneasy and terrified when first stepping onto this path, but now? It was as if Grimmjow had always been a treasured friend...well, a close companion with a sharp tongue and quick opinion. Who didn't hold her in much regard, but put up with her company anyway.

The first of the three later visits, she'd kept her promise, and brought along the pictures she'd taken of the outside scenery. Grimmjow hadn't said much, and she hadn't been expecting anything less. But his blue eyes had flickered with some interest over certain shots, like the ones that focused on the skyline, and the looming grey mountains off in the distance. She remembered making silly comments on the fact that the snow up there most likely wouldn't be melting anytime soon, so if someone really liked snowball fights and snowmen, they could take a trek up there, and enjoy the fresh air. Though of course, it would be really cold.

He regarded none of her words with any sort of response, gaze merely continuing to linger upon the shots. Interestingly enough, he'd given the same amount of attention to a couple of pictures that Orihime had gotten a passerby to take, of her standing outside of the high school. Since no students had been around, the building looked almost forlorn and lonely, no bustling bodies making their way in and out. How long ago had she graduated? Nearly ten years. It would be ten, after she turned twenty-seven this fall.

Grimmjow had never graduated. It had been shortly before the end of her junior year that he'd finally dropped out, after all that...

The second visit had consisted of Orihime bringing in a copy of the local paper, as well as one of the month's latest comic publication compilations, to read off a few articles to the man behind the plexiglass cage, as well as share some stories. Occasionally, she'd gotten a brief snort or chuckle, as he muttered a few choice words about "fucking bureaucrats", "red tape bullshit", or "if I had the money t'back me up, I could be a goddamn politician too." He'd seemed to enjoy the mangas as well, though a small handful of artists received Grimmjow's scathing glare, as he proceeded to state that they "couldn't draw for shit, much less tell a story. Hell, gimme a pen and paper, I'll draw you a fucking story. _My_ story. Sure it'd get some heads rolling. Heh."

He'd looked at Orihime then, and proceeded to ask her a strange question, one that had been unexpected: "You draw at all, Princess? Or that too dull for you? Don't like t'get your hands dirty?"

She hadn't been able to hide the blush that had invaded her cheeks then, as she shook her head slowly. "N-no...I mean, I like art, and when there was a project at school, of course I completed it, but...I was never really an 'artist'. Sometimes I wish I was, though. I mean, it'd be so much fun to be able to paint portraits of people, or animals, or the changing scenery...or even better, your own world! Created on the canvas, with so many colors and shapes and creatures...things not of this Earth-you could get lost in there."

Then, she realized that she'd been rambling, and had promptly returned the focus to the comics at hand. But she hadn't been able to shake the feeling of Grimmjow's quizzical stare, as he continued to watch her this time around, instead of the pictures and bubbles in the book.

The last visit had been more along the lines of the other three; Orihime hadn't had anything to bring with her, but after a good few minutes of cloying silence, the topic had somehow gone on to her career in the medical field. Or, more precisely, the darker aspects of it. Such as the times she'd been on duty when a particularly gruesome case had come in when she was still working in the ER.

Grimmjow had been the one asking the questions now, about what the bodies had been carted in for, and how much blood had been lost, and what was the ratio of saved lives to lost ones, and so forth. He'd even asked a bit about the time he'd gone in to the hospital, though by that time, Orihime hadn't been working the lower levels anymore. She'd only seen the aftermath. So, she had to answer the best she could, based on what she'd heard from some acquaintances who'd still hung out down below.

The details weren't as intense as he'd been hoping for, but knowing that he'd put up one hell of a fuss and had managed to hold out from screaming over the pain, instead choosing to throw out obscenities at his captors and those 'hacks' working on him, seemed to put a satisfied smirk on his face. "So, what would you have done if you'd seen me like that, Princess? Started crying? Doesn't sound very professional t'me."

Again, that foreign blush. She'd shook her head once more, stating that she'd have to have done her job, regardless of any feelings towards her former classmate. She never did go in depth as to what those feelings may or could have been though, other than being concern for a friend. And he didn't push the issue.

As she turned the corner, heading past the playground that she liked to sit at on an off day or two when she needed a change of scenery for her thoughts, Orihime was mulling over what she could possibly do for this next visit. It was coming up within a couple of weeks, and they certainly couldn't resort to rambling about the same subjects yet again. Maybe she could go looking around the bookshop, and find something new to read to him? He didn't seem as adverse to it as she'd first pictured him to be; in fact, he'd seemed to rather like it. His expression hadn't been nearly as bored or annoyed as usual. Only when the key points of the articles picked up, though.

But her internal musing was interrupted by an all-too familiar, yet completely unexpected voice calling out her name: "Oi, Inoue-san!" She froze in her tracks, purse straps sliding partway off her shoulder.

"K-Kurosaki...kun?"

Turning around, she found herself hoping that she was merely suffering the effects of a long day at work, resulting in auditory hallucinations brought on by stress and jumpy nerves when she knew she was alone. But it was a hackneyed excuse; he didn't live that far from her, and now, here he stood before her, in a crisp but untucked shirt and blue jeans. It must've been an off-day for him from the local police force.

Ichigo nodded, face breaking into a hint of a smile. "Hey. Long time no see, Inoue." His hands were resting in his pockets as he took a step forwards. The afternoon sun shone on his strawberry-blond spiked hair, making it look even more orange and golden in the light. She wondered vaguely if her own locks made her head look like it was on fire.

Now he was directly in front of her, shadow cast down as he raised an eyebrow at her seemingly distant personality. "You alright? Just tired? Still working at the hospital, yeah? They must have you on a ton of shifts." He waved a hand in her face. "Getting enough sleep? Food?"

That was when Orihime snapped to: Kurosaki Ichigo was standing in front of her, asking her if she was all right. No matter if they hadn't seen each other in a long time-she owed him an answer. So, straightening up and tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear, she gave him what she hoped wasn't a nervous giggle. "I'm okay, Kurosaki-kun! You're right-I've been working some really long shifts recently! This is the first time in a while that I've gotten to go home before sunset! Eheheh."

Even with all the time and events that had passed between them, there was always still that aspect of formality. That one hurdle they could never overcome. Such distance. He was always 'Kurosaki-kun' to her, the boy who lived at the clinic down the street, and she was always 'Inoue-san', the girl with the vivid imagination and even bigger stomach. Just friends, and yet not quite. "How's Kuchiki-san doing?"

Ichigo nodded, apparently pleased with her reply, before letting out a sigh. "Ah, she's doing well. Always nagging me when I go out-'Be careful out there! Don't get too cocky! You're not Superman, though I know you try to be! Just do what you can, and let the universe work out the rest!' She's one to talk, always staying up so late in the clinic." He chuckled. "Even Dad tells her not to overload herself with the paperwork, that's what he's there for, but she insists on taking it all upon herself. Sometimes I find her asleep in the office, like a kid cramming for finals. It's kinda cute, I guess. But I'm the one that always winds up carrying her back to bed."

Again, Orihime found herself giggling. There didn't seem to be much else she could do when in front of him; she couldn't come up with witty banter, nor did she feel as if she could just out of the blue start baring her soul, much less her most recent exploits. The only reason she'd been able to mention the work at the hospital was because he'd broached the subject first. "At least she's got someone to care for her."

"Yeah...hey, Inoue? Are you busy right now?" This was a first. She had been expecting him to finish up the conversation and then go on his merry way with a wave and a "See ya"; he hadn't been one for personal visits, like she herself. For all the things they had in common, you'd think there would've been a deeper bond. But this was it, the extent of their relationship: awkward mini meetings and easy to grasp casual banter. "Umm..."

She wanted to say yes. Say that she had things to do, that she was going to get started on an early dinner, or that she had things to take care of for her shift tomorrow, or that she was tired and desperately needed a nap. So many excuses, running through her mind. Should've, would've, could've.

But it just wasn't in her nature to turn away from a friend, no matter her feelings inside. So she found herself saying those three little words, her lips and tongue hanging on the syllables. Or perhaps it was her overactive imagination at work yet again. "No, I'm not."

He nodded, turning back away once more. "Okay, then. If it's alright with you, do you mind if we take a walk around the block?" He gave her that hint of a smile, and for just a fleeting moment, Orihime was transported back to her days of early youth; back to those days of high school corridors and furrowed brows, when every movement he'd made or every word he'd said had been enough to set her heart aflutter. How she'd looked up to him with all the awe and admiration of a child at their first fair, watching the performers in an almost hypnotic daze.

Then, reality kicked in: she was twenty-six, and he was twenty-seven. She was a nurse, he was a cop. He was attached, she was single. Both of them were closed books when it came to the other. Those days were long gone, as far behind her as the fallen snow. They were adults, and it was time to move on. "A walk? Did...you have something you wanted to talk about?"

Ichigo shrugged. "You could say that. Like catching up, you know? It's been a good while since we've seen each other, right? Old friends should stay close."

_Old friends..._were they? Were they really? Orihime wanted to believe it, so badly. She wanted to believe that she was still that little girl, carrying her brother upon her back, blood trickling down her face and seeping into her uniform as she staggered towards the sliding doors of his clinic. The little girl who needed to be protected from the big bad world by the knight in shining armor. So she followed him, footsteps light against the cement, heart fleeting as she tried to focus only on the current moment, not the tangle of doubts tugging at her conscience.

"Looks like it's gonna be a warm Fall this year." She saw him stretch, out of the corner of her eye, looking up towards the golden-green foliage above their heads. "Summer started late, huh? How's the humidity over at your place?"

It was so strange, to hear him talking like this; heck, to be talking at all. If there's one thing Ichigo wasn't renown for, it was his conversational skills. Like Orihime herself, he too hadn't been the biggest social butterfly. It had been by his actions alone and an inherent interest in them that he'd gained his circle of friends. In her case, it had been out of sheer luck and a slow determined progress of survival that she'd met hers. She could only nod, and try to wrack her brain for something, anything, to fill in the blank of that gaping, oncoming silence.

"I-it's fine. I mean, sometimes it gets really warm-I was sitting in my shorts one day with some ice cream, and I didn't even notice it had started to drip over the edge of the table, until I tried to move my leg. My knee was all sticky! Hee..." It sounded so foolish and meaningless, but it was all she had. That emptiness was a terrifying concept to behold. "Right now it's normal though, I can wear my regular clothes and not notice any changes. I mean, I don't sweat any more than usual."

He was staring off into the distance, hands shoved into pockets as he responded with an "Uh-huh...that makes sense." They hadn't even reached the end of the first street yet, and already it seemed as if they'd been walking for miles. She couldn't decide if being with Ichigo like this was as scarier, or worse than, her very first encounter with Grimmjow behind bars. Truth be told, they did have quite a few similarities, aside from Ichigo not being so crude and crass. But the way her heart was hammering in her chest...it was starting to hurt this time.

Something was lurking, just barely concealed under the surface of the pleasant formalities. And whatever it was...Orihime wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"What else have you been up to?" Her heart skipped so hard that she thought it had been impaled upon one of her ribs from the shock. Glancing over, she now saw that Ichigo was regarding her quite thoughtfully, amber brown eyes looking her over as if searching for some answer that she had no intention of telling. But she had to say something, lest she appear to be hiding facts or simply averting the subject. The only problem was...

There was no force on Earth that could possibly make her tell Kurosaki Ichigo, of all people, that she was currently engaged in visiting one of his worst rivals, Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, who was now on death row. He was a cop, for Chrissakes! This was the last thing he'd want to hear, and from her, too! So, swallowing the nerves that threatened to take over her tongue, she flashed him a broad smile.

"Well, I've been trying to come up with some-some new recipes to try out for my lunches at the hospital, so I don't always have to buy something. Save money, you know? So, I've been looking through some of those 'modern women' magazines, even though I don't usually care for them. You can actually find some really good articles in them, about things like skin care and fashion-not that I really care about clothing, but I mean, well, I had been thinking of sorting out my wardrobe for the longest time, maybe giving some things away, and they talk a lot about what's flattering to which body type, and, ha ha, I didn't even know I had one! But then again, it makes sense, 'cause sometimes, when I'd go shopping, I'd have the hardest time trying to find things that fit or looked good on me, much less being affordable. And in the last few years, what with everyone being so busy, of course shopping hasn't been 'up there' on my list of big concerns. Though now with the Fall coming on, I have to start thinking about things like Christmas presents and the like, and hoping that I have enough money for postage-oh, and I don't wanna send anything too big, 'cause it might not fit, or cost extra, and-"

"Inoue." He cut her off with a smooth application of her name. "You're rambling." Instantly, she stopped what she was saying, looking up at him, cheeks flushed as she noticed for the first time that she hadn't been breathing all throughout that entire exchange. As she took a few deep, well-needed breaths, wondering what had possibly compelled her to go on to Ichigo, of all people, about women's magazines, fashion, body types and oversized packages, she felt that familiar sensation of prickling heat, creeping up her spine and the back of her neck, to settle around her shoulders and then her cheeks. She was being stared at, yet again. By Ichigo. He was really giving her the once-over, and Orihime was certain by this point that it wasn't out of interest in her attire.

But, she didn't want to seem rude or paranoid. So, taking one more breath, she asked him, slowly, "Umm...do I have something on my face?" So innocent, so simple, so easy, so her. A light ice breaker upon the silence that had extended between the two of them after her verbal barrage. He studied her for a few more moments, before shaking his head.

"I thought you knew me better than that, Inoue-san...guess I was wrong. Has it really been that long?" He was applying the honorifics again. That couldn't be good. "You never were good at lying...though neither am I, so I guess it fits, in a really twisted way." His eyes narrowed slightly then, as they rounded the first corner. That was when he stopped walking. Orihime nearly tripped over her own feet trying to match his actions in time.

"Why?" No descriptions, no attachments, no explanations. Just that one word. That one word that held so much weight in one syllable. Orihime could feel it-her world was caving in, but she refused to admit it. A nervous chuckle left her lips. "W-why what, Kurosaki-kun? Are you okay?"

"Why are you lying to me?" His words hit her like a slap to the face. This was the very first time that he'd ever accused her of anything of the sort, and it hurt. A lot. A whole lot. She hadn't been expecting it at all. "Lying? I-I don't understand-Ichigo-san, what are you talking about?" Things were really getting heavy now. She was calling him by his first name. That never happened.

"You know what I mean." He wasn't looking at her now, but his feet instead. His off-white sneakers were faded and battered against the cool grey cement. Orihime wondered, if she stared long enough at it, would her own eyes be swallowed up by the shade? "No, I don't. What are you-"

"I'm a cop. I work on the goddamn local force, Orihime." Her heart fell. This time, he did turn to look at her, and his amber eyes were brimming with hurt and anguish. It was an emotion she'd seen more than once in them throughout her lifetime, but it was the first time she'd seen it aimed at her. "News travels around. We're not that set apart from the higher ups. You've been visiting Grimmjow, of all people. And I want to know _why_."

This was it. As she stood there in the shadows of the setting sun and her former crush, Orihime felt the last vestiges of her childhood and youth slipping away, crumbling down and breaking amongst her fingers. The harder she tried to put them back up, the further they fell, the pieces becoming tinier and closer to dust until they blew around her in the wind, tangling in her hair and clothes as the voices screamed at her, carried by the force of her overwhelming emotions.

"I..." She couldn't begin to come up with a way to answer his question. It was so simple on the surface, but underneath it all, there were so many layers! So many layers to pull and peel and unwind and remove, to get to the truth beneath. And that was a truth that no one, not even she herself, would acknowledge.

"I have my reasons." She turned away, prepared to leave. Run from the conversation, from her friend, from the truth. But a hand on her arm stopped her. She froze, heart skipping in her chest like a scared rabbit's, as she was forced to turn around and lock eyes once more with the man she'd thought she knew. "Inoue-san."

Ichigo's expression had softened, as he let her go and returned his hands to his pockets. Now he was toeing at the ground, scuffing his shoe against the cement. "I'm sorry for being so rough, it's just...don't you see how foolish this is? How dangerous?"

The words coming out of his mouth were just as she expected them to be: discouraging, worried, heated. Commanding. Controlling. He was trying to be the protector again. Trying to prove to Orihime that she couldn't stand on her own two feet, couldn't trust herself to walk the path she'd chosen without faltering. It didn't even have to be limited to the subject of Grimmjow. The idea permeated through everything.

"I-I'm a grown woman, Kurosaki-kun." How silly it seemed then, that a grown woman should refer to her companions by such infantile honorifics. "I can make my own decisions." Again, he shook his head.

"This isn't about that. This is about you ruining your life over somebody who shouldn't even matter. Orihime, do you even remember what happened before? There's no way you could've possibly forgotten. I mean, he-"

"I didn't forget!" Her voice had risen in pitch, effectively silencing him before he could finish that sentence. That was a Pandora's Box she had managed to keep closed all this time; no one, much less Ichigo, would be the one to reopen it again, and unleash the chaos contained inside. She'd spent so long trying to hide it away, and pretend that what was in there had never happened...while at the same time, on the outside, toying with the lock. By visiting that man behind bars.

"Then why? What possible reason could you have to be wasting your time on him?" Now Ichigo was getting frustrated. She could tell by his stiffened frame and furrowed brow-which at one time she had found funny-that he was trying not to strike out. It was a logical reaction. One of his friends was willingly putting themselves in harm's way, and he didn't know why. To be honest, Orihime didn't know why, either. But she knew more than him. That's all that was important.

She folded her hands in front of her, purse strap once more sliding down her shoulder. "It's not a waste-he's alone in there, a-and I...I wanted to see him, and let him know, that..."

Ichigo snorted. "Yeah, for a damn good reason. Inoue, do you even know why he was locked up in there? This is the guy who was associated with a gang that killed off anyone who tried to leave its ranks! The only person who survived is now forever locked in a hospital with the mentality of a toddler, thanks to the severe head trauma she received! Are you off on one of your little fantasy trips again?" That was a low blow, and he knew it. Orihime looked up at him, eyes flashing for the first time with her own brand of hurt.

"It's not a game, Kurosaki-kun! He was my classmate! I was in the hospital when he was brought in! I j-just wanted to...wanted...I wanted..." Oh, no. She wasn't about to break down in front of him now, was she? That was the last thing she needed-to start sniveling and crying, and have him comforting her, thinking that he'd somehow gotten through to her, pushed aside her idiotic reasoning, and that she'd never engage in this behavior again. The frustration was there, but it wasn't based off of anything Ichigo would understand. In fact, she herself didn't understand it. Why was she so desperate to protect Grimmjow? To prove that he was still a human, no matter the atrocities he'd committed?

Ichigo was watching her warily now, unsure about his own words. The last thing he wanted to do was make his friend cry. "Look, I know...I know that you feel like it's your duty to help everyone, and that you probably feel bad for him, winding up in the situation he has. But you have to understand, Orihime: It's. Not. Your. Responsibility. You don't have to take care of him. He brought this all on himself. I know it might be hard to hear, but...well, it's true. He chose this path, and-"

"It's not...a responsibility. I don't feel bad for him. Well, I do, but...not the way you think I do." Orihime was trying so hard to refute his words, but when it came down to it, her logic couldn't stand up to his. Because what was at the heart of the matter here, was just that. Her heart. Her heart, and that damned Pandora's Box.

"Then what it is? Are you trying to redeem him?" Orihime's head snapped up, as she stared at Ichigo with a new sense of disbelief. No, it wasn't that! It wasn't that at all! He didn't want to be redeemed, and it wasn't her place to attempt something so invasive and insensitive! How hard was it to understand that she cared for him, that she didn't want Grimmjow thinking he was alone in this world, that there was at least one person who lo-

"You need to stop seeing him." Ichigo's back was turned to her now, so she couldn't see his face. But she imagined it was a rigid mask of stone-cold resolution. Her chest tightened. "I may not know what your reasons are for this-this martyrs quest, or whatever you consider it, but it has to end. Now."

He looked over his shoulder at her briefly, and for one second, Orihime swore she saw a flicker of a tear. Then, it was gone. "You're only hurting yourself with this. Do you honestly think he cares about you at all? That you can 'change' him by visiting him daily, taming him into some domesticated little pet?"

He bit his lip, shaking his head again. His amber eyes were now hidden by the shadows of his shaggy locks. "You can't. You can't do it. He'll just drag you down with you, for no other reason than to watch you burn. And I can't let you do that to yourself. If I have to, I'll-"

Orihime had heard enough. "_Stop it_!" Her outburst had obviously shocked Ichigo, as he now stared at her with wide eyes and a slack, slightly hanging jaw. Her fists were clenched tightly, nails digging into the soft skin of her palms as she let loose the string of words that had been building up inside of her these last few moments-or was it these last few years?

"Stop assuming. You don't know me. You don't know me at all, Kurosaki-kun! And you don't know him! I don't need to be 'saved' from anything! So please, please...just stay out of this! It's not your decision to make!" And with that, Orihime turned on her heel, running back the distance that they had traveled. She didn't halt to listen to Ichigo calling out after her, or to adjust her blasted purse upon her shoulder, or to push her hair out of her eyes, or even to wipe away the tears that had begun to fall. When was the last time she had cried like this, anyway? She couldn't remember. Right now, it wasn't important.

How had things gotten so muddled, so murky? As a young girl, she used to idolize Ichigo like no other. She had revered him for his aloof but steady personality, his quiet caring for others, and his willingness to help anyone in need, even his worst enemies. But somewhere along the line, that had changed. He'd grown more sullen, or perhaps he'd just grown up, in general. Was Orihime the one who was still stuck on a loop? Still playing out heroes and villains in her head, where the hero wasn't just some static image? Was the world really as black-and-white as Ichigo presented it to be now?

She knew things weren't the greatest between her and Grimmjow. All that history between them-it was enough to make her choke. But at the same time, it was that very history she was unwilling to let go of, that history which brought her so much closer to the man who was supposed to be viewed as a parasite, a nightmare. Something she should've washed her hands of years ago.

Ichigo was only trying to protect her. Back in the day, Orihime would've found it sweet, and would've been more than willing to let him take over, and handle the reins. But now, after all she'd been through, and as an adult, she found it insulting and patronizing. Who was he to determine whether or not she could fend for herself? Who was he to say who she could see or not? It was her life, not his! But...

_But if I c-continue down this path...this is Ichigo's reaction. A-am I gonna lose everyone else the same way, too?_ By this point, Orihime had reached the front door of her apartment complex. She didn't even remember approaching the building, or running up the stairs. Her fingers fumbled with the doorknob as she shoved in the key and turned it with a trembling hand. The door creaked open, and she slipped inside, breathing now heavy as her movements slowed and her heartbeat caught up with her body. Throwing her purse to the side, she slipped off her shoes and stumbled into the living room, then down the short hallway to her bedroom. She felt like she was in a horror movie though, never reaching the end of that blasted tunnel.

At long last, she made it inside. Flopping onto the bed, she expected the tears to come falling freely now, into her pillow where she was alone and no one could see them. But nothing came out. The few that had fallen from her eyes on the trek back were all dried up now, and no more would follow.

Why? Why couldn't she cry? Her heart was hurting, her mind was swimming, but no emotions would manifest. Shutting her eyes and remembering the last words from Ichigo's mouth, the image and sounds began to warp and distort, until a new face was staring at her, one that she recognized all too well-and one that brought out the most bizarre smile upon her lips.

"_Stupid girl. The hell you cryin' for? Cut it out, it's fucking annoying. Suck it up, will ya?"_ Just that tiny hint of a memory, but it was enough. That little box inside her mind was cracking open bit by bit, but now, where there should've been that fear and discomfort at the idea of reliving those days, instead Orihime felt a sense of...relief. How was it that Grimmjow could comfort her better with his crudeness than Ichigo could understand her?

It was all too much to work out now. She knew the answer, but it was far too tangled up in 'do not enter' tape and forbidden actions and the dust of time. She merely clung to that quote like a mantra, and fell asleep on her bed, curled up tightly like a cat.

**A/N: And there you have it. At long last, the entrance of Ichigo. And what a confrontation it was!**

**For those of you wondering, no, I don't hate Ichigo. But he does strike me as overprotective, living in a sort of child's fantasy about saving everybody and keeping everyone safe. To me, at some points, it almost comes across as controlling. That, and he doesn't always have his priorities in order-fighting baddies in grudge matches over saving his nakama/the girl who had a major crush on him?**

**That's another thing-my personal belief is that Orihime doesn't actually love Ichigo. At least, not in the way she thinks. She loves him as a friend, maybe even a brother, and she loves who he is, what he embodies-but she's not truly in love w/him. I mean, she couldn't kiss him, for one thing...that kinda set off the alarm bells in my head. But these are just my opinions, not fact.  
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**Hope this was interesting and informative, w/out being overly dramatic? I was trying to convey a strong sense of loss here-Orihime is still stuck in the days of her youth, trying so hard to cling to something she'll never get back. Time goes on. People grow up, and change. Nothing ever stays the same, no matter how much we may want it to. She strikes me as someone who might have trouble w/this concept.  
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**Okay, enough rambling. Next time: Was it all just a facade? All Hell breaks loose. How is this possible? You'll have to wait and see. Take care now!  
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	13. Harder To Breathe

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Harder to Breathe**

Neither of them had been expecting it. Orihime sure hadn't, and Grimmjow sure as hell hadn't even been thinking anything remotely close to it. It just seemed to happen spontaneously, from the depths of everyday nothings. Or perhaps it had been lying in wait all this time, and was just scoping out the perfect moment to strike.

After her confrontation with Ichigo, it had taken Orihime a little while longer than usual to scrape together her confidence, and begin visiting Grimmjow once more. But she had soon settled back into the old routine, with the next two visits passing by without any incident. She'd gone back the route of bringing in outside media to entertain him, though eventually the comments returned and she'd wound up answering-and asking-a few more questions. From him, it was "How are you not bored by this shit? It's the same stuff, printed day after day." and "Got any good cases in the nut box recently?" From her, it was "What was your favorite dessert outside, Grimmjow-san?" and "How much sleep do you get?" A strange pair indeed.

It had been a semi-cold day. A bit of a breeze had kicked up, as Orihime kept one hand on her purse and the other by her hair, brushing her bangs from her eyes and hoping that her skirt wouldn't flare up. It reached past her knees, so most likely not, but you never could be too sure about these things. After all, the last thing she wanted was to be cited for indecency on a prison compound.

As her cheeks had been flushed and her hair a windswept mess, Orihime had done her best to quickly straighten out before heading to the two check in desks, and then to the guard station to take her to the elevator leading upwards. She hadn't brought any reading materials with her today; she'd woken up late, and had thus been in something of a rush to reach the place on time. Not like there was ever a crowd there clamoring for one-on-one time with the inmates, though.

Standing in the rickety shaft, she mulled over the possibilities she had before her, as far as where to steer the conversation. As much as she knew he liked it, gore and body horrors weren't really her favorites, but at the same time she knew that the happier aspects of her existence were sure to bore Grimmjow to a fresh rage. She didn't really blame him for this, though; from what she knew of him, his life hadn't been a happy one. Why would you want to hear about everything you never had?

Even she could relate to that sentiment sometimes-just sometimes, when she'd been out and about with friends or social contacts, and they'd been going on about the happy normalities of their life. As cheerful as she may have been, there was that faintest trace of a stain that lurked beneath the surface, reminding her that she'd never enjoy a family dinner, or of the fact that everyone who knew her must have had some sort of pitying sentiments towards her situation. She just had to assume that what they told her was the truth, and that they weren't all flat-out lying to her face, to save the precious waif a nervous breakdown.

So far, it had worked just fine. Her faith had carried her this far, even so far as to reach out to the lowest rung on the ladder, this blue-haired, blue-eyed man who seemed more hunter than human. And so far, while they had their differences, they both acknowledged these aspects and accepted them, never trying to force the other into a mold they couldn't fit. For all his rude remarks and curses, Grimmjow had never once straight told Orihime to change herself. He'd mocked who she was, sure, but that was it. The only thing he'd ever gotten her to change, without saying a single word about it, was her confidence; she stood up far taller and spoke far more boldly than she had before these visits had started.

And somehow, knowing that he had no desire to see her as anything other than a satisfied version of who she'd been before seeing him, made her just a tinier bit...happy.

Now, she sat before him, taking note of the fact that before, when they'd first started, his body would usually be tense, or his arms would be crossed over his chest, as the receiver sat jammed between his ear and shoulder. His expression would be locked in that same mocking scowl. These days, while he still frowned, the emotions behind it were a far ways different from where they'd been before. She could barely even detect the usual traces of annoyance and boredom; now, he seemed to be grudgingly anticipating her contact, as if she were the one he loved to hate. But didn't hate to love. Oh boy, did that set her heart racing!

"Oi." His voice shook her from her jumbled thoughts. She looked up at him, grey eyes meeting blue, like a still lake on a summer morning. When was his birthday? Sometime in late July, correct? And there went her thoughts again. "What's got you so distracted? Okay, scratch that: what's eating at that lil' brain of yours today, woman?"

Orihime had to blush, if only because he was referring to her with far less hostility than he had in sessions past. But what was she to say here? That she was thinking about him? It would merely prompt a well-deserved smart-ass response. She'd practically be asking for it if she replied as such.

But then, what to say?

She'd never told him a single word of her interactions on the outside that involved the subject of their little trysts. Especially not Ichigo and his reaction. She could only begin to imagine how angry he'd get over hearing that his old nemesis had actually found out about them, and had threatened to put an end to it. But what could he honestly do? Orihime hadn't lied in anything she'd submitted to the legal system, and neither had Grimmjow. Was Ichigo seriously going to try and get her banned simply because it grated at his nerves?

That was the one other thing she liked about Grimmjow. Though it had begun gradually cropping up amongst her other contacts, with him it was always evident: as taunting as he may have been, Grimmjow always saw her as an independent woman, capable of making her own decisions, even if he didn't agree with them. He'd tried to scare her off, but that was it. If he'd really wanted her gone, he could've just as easily brought down the ban hammer.

And he hadn't. What did that say about him?

"I, umm...well..." She bit at her lower lip, and he tsked. "Quit it. Chew gum if you have'ta, not your fucking body." Letting go of the appendage at once, Orihime locked eyes with him again, still wracking her brain for an appropriate subject. And that's when it hit her.

"Well, I just realized, Grimmjow-san...it's been nearly a year since we started seeing each other. Like this," she added hastily, and he rolled his eyes. "So, I guess I was wondering, I dunno...did you want to-to celebrate it...the anniversary, in some way?"

Looking back at the redhead with those wide and hopeful grey eyes of hers, Grimmjow had no idea how to respond to the inquiry she'd posed before him. Most people wouldn't celebrate shit like this. They'd celebrate the day they no longer had to come out here, or the day that a so-and-so bastard was finally put to death, but not the day they'd first begun establishing contact. Not this. Only she could come up with something so out there and ridiculous.

So then, why was he trying to find an answer for her?

"I don't fucking know. I'm in a prison-not much t'celebrate here. Besides, it's not like they'll let you bring anything in, anyways." He leaned back in his seat, letting a long sigh pass his lips as he began to fiddle with the receiver cord. How'd they manage to get it so curly like that, huh?

Orihime gave him a small smile. It reached her eyes-always did, when she smiled at him-lighting them up from the inside out. He always had to stare. "Well, I could-I could make you a card? Maybe? That is, if you wouldn't mind-if you wanted me to." She sounded so eager and peppy over the idea. Why was she so proud about it? Did she really think it mattered to him? Why did she want it to matter? Did he want it to matter? What did it mean if it mattered to him? What did this whole situation mean between the two of them, anyway?

She was always there now. When she visited, he couldn't even feign boredom. She drew his attention like a moth to a flame, no matter how unwilling the moth was to go because it knew its wings were about to get singed like a motherfucker. He just couldn't look away.

And there was a part of him now, that lived for this feeling. It ate it up, like there was no tomorrow. Like it was going to run out somehow. But it never did. Just like all his rage and hatred before, it was always replenished whenever he saw her face. That gentle, doe-like face, with the perfectly sculpted features and the long amber hair falling around pure porcelain skin. So pretty and unreal. So far beyond his grasp. Something that he'd never, ever dreamed he could have, in any way, shape, fashion or form. Yet she was here now, for him. All for him.

But then, on the other side of the coin...there was _it_. That part of him that clung to the old ways, that screamed until it was hoarse that he didn't need her, didn't need this little bitch coming around and dirtying up his living space with her purity and her compassion and connections and feelings and memories and scents and eyes and touches and-

"Why?" The question. It had been brought up more than once in their earliest visits. But this time, he was going to get an answer. A full, honest-to-God answer. And he didn't care how.

Orihime blinked, obviously not expecting to be sideswiped by such an unexpected question. For a moment, he swore he saw her flinch-_good!_/_no, not good!_-but then, it was gone. She was watching him, smile still in place, even as it faltered slightly. "Why what, Grimmjow-san?"

He leaned forwards. "All of this. Why are you putting yourself through this?" He rethought his words. "Why are you putting _me_ through this?" She blinked once more, not understanding what he was getting at. Hell, even he wasn't understanding it! It was a real mess, what this side of him was demanding he do. But that bitterness still existed in him, determined to keep him aloof and alone. It was certain beyond a doubt that he didn't need her in his life, because what she was suggesting to him was something he'd never once considered, even now.

Okay, maybe that was wrong. He'd considered it in those fleeting moments, when his humanity hadn't been on the line and he'd been all alone in the quiet of nature or darkness. He'd briefly mulled it over, before returning to the mentality of the Pantera.

What Orihime was offering was something he'd never had before: acceptance. Peace. Shelter. Love. But it was beyond the shield of plexiglass and under the watchful gaze of spiteful guards. Just like always, it came at a price. She was on the outside, looking in. It would never be normal, never be right. She could never be his and only his.

And when he thought about it that way, all of the honesty and trust that had built up between them in these months began to distort and waver. He had to end it now.

"You don't really care about me. If you did, you wouldn't be trying to drag me through this hell under the sun." It was like watching a car crash in slow motion-she drew back like she'd been shocked. "W-what are you talking about, Grimmjow-san? I do care! If I didn't, I _wouldn't_-"

He cut her off. "No. You only care about what you _think_ I can be. What you _think_ you can make me be. I'm not one of your little friends outside, Woman. So just-"

This time, she cut him off with a loud sigh. When had she become so brave as to interrupt his rants? "We've been over this before, Grimmjow-san! I don't look at you like anybody else! I just see you...as you. I'm not trying to make you into anything you don't want to be." She gazed at him, a ripple of sadness flickering through her storm-colored eyes. He had to hold back a shiver.

It could've just ended there; he could've forced that part of himself away, and continued on with the silly chatter and giggles over what else could be used to 'celebrate' their one year anniversary of visits. He could've forgotten his train of thought, and let her take control again; after all, she was really getting so very good at holding her own with him. It probably carried over to other parts of her life, as well. He was influencing her to step up and be the damn Princess, like her name implied, instead of being the damsel in distress. Why did this idea amuse him so?

But he couldn't. He couldn't do it. That part of him was just as much a part of him as the one that had built up all these months in his growing rapport with the red-haired female, if not more so. It had always been his salvation, his defense. Whenever things went wrong, he could just burn it all down, and turn a blind eye. Say "Fuck it; it doesn't matter to me." Because it wasn't supposed to. _She_ wasn't supposed to. And she did.

"These feelings..." At this, Orihime sat up. Grimmjow wasn't one for talking about emotions. So either this was serious, or someone had spiked his food. "I don't know what to do with them. I don't..." He clenched his fists, tugging at the receiver cord which he'd still been playing with this entire time. "I d-don't...want them." She felt it; that hint of the calm before disaster struck. But she wasn't going to be unaware. Not this time. She was going to find out what was bothering him, and help him sort it out. Because darn it, he meant something to her now! He wasn't just a face from the past, brought back by a spur-of-the-moment urge for contact! She was-

"I don't want you." It was as if someone had stabbed her with an icicle, straight to the heart. His blue eyes were narrowed into steely slits, as he finally let go of the cord, and it started to jiggle and tremble in place. "I don't wanna be...whatever you're trying to make me be. These feelings-I want them to go away. I don't wanna be it, whatever the hell 'it' is, I don't wanna be your fucking anything!" His voice was rising in power and intensity. It was different from the rages that Orihime had experienced with him before.

"That night. That night, way back when. You know what I'm fucking talking about." Her heart skipped in her throat. "When I let you go. That was it. That was fucking _it_. There wasn't supposed to be anything more or less. There wasn't supposed to be a hospital, or visits, or anniversaries-what the fuck is this-or feelings! I let you go. I let you _go_, damn it! And this is what I got for it."

Grimmjow was clutching at his head now, trying to hold back the growls and snarls that threatened to overtake him. He was losing it, losing his control. That primal urge was coming back out, that urge to destroy, to tear apart, to kill. Orihime was staring at him now, tears in her eyes. Not over the pain of his words, but over the pain in his actions. The anguish in his eyes when he looked up at her through his bangs. "P-please-Grimmjow-san-let me help-"

"Help? I think you've fucking done enough of that, thanks for nothing!" He spat, fixing her with that venomous glare she'd thought she'd never have to witness again. Again, the cold stab to the chest.

"All you gave me were scars. Scars, scars, scars, fucking _scars_! I'm sick of them! W-when I see you...all I see is nothing! Because I can't have any of it!" He slammed his fist down against the wooden tabletop, and this time it groaned audibly, a faint crackle hidden beneath. The guards were already stepping forwards, ready to apply the restraints. "I'm the motherfucking King...and yet, I have nothing. All you do is remind me of that."

Grimmjow gripped at the tabletop, looking for all the world like he was going to be sick. "I don't want you. I don't want what you want from me. I just want...I want to be. I don't want anyone touching me. Just stay the fuck away from me! That's it! I'm done with you! _Do you hear me_?" He was screaming now, at nobody in particular, head down as his words bounced off the walls surrounding him.

That was when he heard the sound of a chair scraping the floor. His head shot up.

Orihime was looking down at him, holding the phone as she tried her best to hold back the tears. The expression upon her face was beyond heartbreaking. He felt his own heart threaten to stop in his chest, as it gave a shaky beat.

"I thought...I thought you were different." Her words caught him unaware. "I thought you saw me...saw the real me. Saw me as a p-person." Her hand was slipping, as was her voice. The receiver was going to fall from her fingers any minute now. "Everybody else...kept telling me...telling me...that I had to choose. A-and I did. I made my choice. I chose you."

She turned away, phone dropping from her grasp. "But you still didn't believe me. And that was your choice." She was stumbling, fumbling, staggering for the door. He watched her leave, finally broken and defeated at last. It hadn't been his insults or cold shoulders that had driven her away. Only when he'd finally realized what had been between them and tried to destroy it with his bare hands...only then had she given up, and given in.

Only when he'd hurt her by hurting himself, when he'd sabotaged his own future had she finally backed away, realizing that it was impossible. He would never see her the way she wanted him to.

Or maybe he did, but was too much of a dumb ass to admit it.

The guard was now unlocking the door, leading her out of the room. This time, she didn't turn around to watch him as she left. He felt a hand upon his shoulder, letting him know it was time to go back into the cage, but it barely registered in his conscious mind.

His eyes were burning, stinging. Watering. What? Why were they so watery? He felt that hot, damp substance drip down from his eyelid to his cheek, traveling over the bone fragment mask upon his face. Reaching up, he brushed against it with two fingers, rubbing it between his thumb, index and middle.

It was a tear. For the first time he could ever remember, he was crying. Crying. Over her. Over that simple woman. She was the one and only being that made him shed tears.

He stood up, too dumbfounded to care that he was being shackled and chained yet again, to be sent back into the shadows of his little pit. He didn't care. He couldn't have cared less.

All he saw was that face. All he heard was those words.

And as they led him out of the room, he remembered, at long last: how they'd first discovered that the other had truly existed. And then. The end had brought him back to the beginning again.

**A/N: Dun-dun-duuun. The beginning of a series of MAJOR reveals over the next two-three chapters, maybe even four? ;p Hope you'll all be looking forward to those-I did my best w/what I could. But I'm still gonna make a few editing runs before posting them all one-by-one.**

**So. The break between Grimmjow and Orihime. It was already showing hints of coming about; the calm before the storm. In this case, one by the name of Pantera. Hope the buildup and angst was still believable here. I don't want this to come off as overwrought or OOC. If there are any flaws, I need to know. ^^; Yeah, I'm a masochist. But, I want my work to be the best it can possibly be, at this point in time w/the skills I have.**

**Grimmjow has a lot of feelings, and most of those center around Orihime, and then his own self. Here, we see him lashing out at her over the past and present-by referring to 'that night' here, he's effectively trying to place the blame for his life's shoddy outcome on 'Hime, and what happened between them-b/c he let that happen. It's quite convoluted, and is only meant to show just how frustrating it is for Grimmjow to _have_ feelings in the first place.  
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**This chapter also effectively marks the halfway point of our little tale. Thirteen more updates before its completion! Clocks a-ticking!**

**Next chapter: The start of the flashbacks! A LOT of questions are gonna be answered here, so if there's anything you've been wondering about, now may be the time to keep your eyes open! 'bows' I tried to make it interesting and realistic, despite canon's cries to the contrary [ex: Supernatural over Criminal Underworld. The reverse is true here. :)].  
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**Enjoy, everyone. All feedback is accepted. Take care.  
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	14. Send The Pain Below

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Send the Pain Below**

There hadn't been _that _much of a difference between high school and the rest of Grimmjow's years in attendance at any other learning institution. Aside from getting kicked out of one in his middle school years, the setup had been the same. Oh, and in his first year at Karakura High, he'd met the Espada.

Quickly, the stakes had been upped. He'd gone from being a common thug to being someone with rank and power. His 'family' hadn't known about any of this-still caught up in their own worlds of binging and clashing. But at least they didn't bug him anymore, or try nearly as often to lay a hand on him. Especially knowing that he could fight back now.

The Espada had given him all that he'd been searching for in his life, up until that moment. They gave him acceptance. They gave him status. They gave him respect. They acknowledged his strength, his rage, his utter destructive nature, and in exchange gave him top priority. He could now show the entire world what he thought of them, and not have to worry a single iota about 'getting caught' or 'repercussions'. This group was the new crime wave. They were the next big thing. Like a fledgling band, about to make it big in the music industry, turning it upside down. Or a sickness, about to go viral.

School hadn't mattered much to him. Sure, he could do the work, but for the most part there was never much of an incentive to complete it. His teachers were all judgmental pricks and bitches, sneering down their noses at him and his crew, but never gutsy enough to actually stand up and tell them off. They could give them the mandated punishments, but they couldn't enforce them at all. It was a joke. A tired old joke, indeed.

High school had brought him one more prize-or was it a challenge? That skinny, loud-mouthed, hands-in-his-pockets strawberry-blond haired champion of justice, named Kurosaki Ichigo. And his crew of do-gooders.

Grimmjow could remember the very first time they'd met. It had been by the vending machine on the school campus, near the auditorium. He'd been there with one of his comrades, another thug who worked under him named Ilforte Grantz, a sibling to one of the main Espada. Unlike his younger brother however, his strength was mainly brute. The soda machine hadn't been working properly, but there was no sign up stating that it was out of order, so the blasted thing had eaten Ilforte's change without coughing up a drink.

It wasn't like he couldn't get more money somewhere else-and a whole lot more of it, pocket change was nothing to cry over-but Grantz was determined to have his way that day. What could he say, other than he was bored? And if he couldn't get a drink, then he'd get satisfaction over knowing that he'd been the one to turn that contraption on its head. Thus, the assault had begun. Kicking, punching, shaking, cursing-it was all there and accounted for. The male looked somewhat pathetic though, Grimmjow had to admit secretly to himself, attacking the machine.

The noise must have attracted the flies. That had to be it. The campus was relatively quiet, seeing as most of the kids had gone home already, aside from those who had stayed behind for the day's after school activities or practices. They'd just been slumming it, seeing as neither really had anywhere to go, and no orders had been issued by the higher ups; no jobs to do, no bodies to beat into submission, or necessary fees to collect for the gang's future endeavors.

But whatever the case, the thrashing and crashing had been interrupted by a sudden "Don't you two lowlifes have anything better to do than ruin the fun for everyone else?" And there he stood, that bright, spiky hair of his like a lighthouse beacon, amber brown eyes narrowed as two of his friends stood behind him, like stoic statues. Kurosaki Ichigo. As for his companions...

One was deeply tanned, with wavy dark locks that fell over his eyes and a muscular form that would've fit right in with the Espadas. The other was, again, on the slender side, with inky, sleek parted locks and thin rimmed glasses that rested perfectly upon the bridge of his nose. He and that pink-haired science cadaver freak, Szayel-the younger brother of Ilforte-may have gotten along well together. Grimmjow had no idea. If he recalled correctly though, their names were Sado 'Chad' Yasutora and Ishida Uryuu.

All he knew was that if these three were looking for a fight, they were gonna get it. As a preemptive measure, he began to crack his knuckles. Ilforte, on the other hand, preferred to strike out with words first-but only a few. "And who said this concerns you anyway, you goody-goody? Back off, and leave the grown ups to their work." He spat at the ground.

"Big talk coming from a guy who's taking out frustrations on something that can't fight back. Or is that the only way you'd be able to win?" A vein had twitched in Ilforte's forehead, though he'd held back on lunging. But the potential for a strikeout was enough to scatter the trio into three spaces. Ichigo's attention was no longer focused on Grantz, but on his quiet companion. Namely, Grimmjow. "Jeagerjaquez. That's your name, right? Jeagerjaquez and your little underling. One of the biggest bullies in this school, next to the rest of your crew."

The blue-haired male had shrugged, giving Ichigo a cocky sneer. "Takes one to know one, in my experience. So, who have you been fucking over, Ku-ro-sa-ki?" If this was a contest of throwing out names, then he could do the same, with just as much condescension.

"Nobody. I'm not as petty as you." Grimmjow had to laugh at this. "Bullshit! If that were the case, you'd be able to shrug off all those wannabes who keep heckling you over your hair." Not like Grimmjow hadn't gotten the string of nasty comments about his sky-blue locks. He'd just learned to make the peanut gallery shut up. With his rage. Their taunts couldn't begin to equal the fury behind his actions. And now, no one said anything.

"I only strike back because they start something first. When did this conversation turn to me, anyway? I'm not the bully here." Grimmjow had smirked, walking right up to Ichigo, until he was less than a foot from him. "And again, I call bullshit. You're just like me-you like to fight. The only difference is, I don't wait for a reason."

"Which makes you even trashier, in my opinion." That little pencil-necked four eyes had actually dared to say something! Bravo! He had balls! But that didn't necessarily make him any bigger, in Grimmjow's eyes. By this point, Ilforte was getting impatient. "Grimmjow! Let's crush these pathetic insects!"

Grimmjow's sneer had turned into a grin then, and he'd easily assumed a fighting stance. "Fine by me." In response, Ichigo had taken a step back, but was ready to strike out if needed-he could see it in his gaze, and body language. "You really wanna do this here?"

He'd shaken his head then. "Just shut up, Mister Preacher, and gimme all you got!" Without hesitation, Grimmjow had lunged, swinging out to try and catch Ichigo's face on the end of his fist. Ilforte had stepped in too, nearly tripping up the thin redhead. If he hadn't jumped back just a few inches at the last second, and then some, Kurosaki's mug would've looked like reheated spaghetti. "Fighting dirty?"

"Feh! It ain't my fault if you ain't ready!" Spitting at the ground, Grimmjow decided to humor his opponent. "Ilforte, stay outta this one. He's mine." His partner began to protest, but Grimmjow's cold stare was enough to silence him, at least for the time being. "Aww, you're no fun. Next time we're on patrol, I get first dibs, then."

"Whatever. I don't care." Grimmjow was eager to get a taste of Kurosaki's blood, and nobody was going to take that opportunity from him. "Hurry up and get ready." Watching as the boy began to prep himself for a conflict, telling his friends to stay out of it-"One-on-one is one-on-one. He's got some warped sense of honor? Well, I do too."-Grimmjow could feel his body tensing, his muscles twitching, ready for a taste of the conflict about to come-

"Hey! What are you all doing here?"

"What the hell? Who messed up the vending machine?"

Yep. His first encounter with Ichigo had been interrupted and effectively ended by a pair of meddling teachers who just happened to be thirsty as well. The group had split, and the day had become another memory in Grimmjow's mind.

It was one thing to mess up a student-although they could've messed up the instructors as well, it wasn't worth the extra trouble and round of setbacks it could ultimately bring. What if they hauled in the cops? And they started sniffing around where they weren't supposed to? There were still a few that believed in a silly thing like 'justice'. And he didn't want to be on the other end of explaining that to his boss. At that time, Sosuke Aizen was nothing short of 'God'.

But it was one incident that he planned on reliving, minus the end. Which he did, many times over in the days to come.

By the time their second year in high school had rolled around, it wasn't a secret that the Espada and Ichigo's crew were the hottest rivalry on campus. Both sides were out for blood, for various reasons, though the main one was simply that Grimmjow liked to seek and destroy. And Ichigo made for a great adversary.

One day though, things changed. The stakes were raised, in the blink of an eye. And it had all started with a fist and a voice.

**…...**

"No! Kurosaki-kun!"

It was just a fight. Another fight, another quarrel. More blood was shed, more curses were hurled. Another day, as always. This time, Grimmjow had gotten the upper hand. Ichigo's defeat had loomed, imminent, on the horizon. And the male had practically been salivating at the thought.

Okay, maybe he was going a little overboard in his rampage. He hadn't been trying so much to defeat Ichigo as he was trying to tear him apart. The crowd that had gathered was wincing and groaning at the blows being thrown, both hopeful for a teacher to come and break up the display, but on the other hand, unable to look away from the carnage involved. Ichigo's friends had been standing on the sides, not allowed to do anything to help, what with Ichigo and his stubborn 'protection pride' in place.

But _she_ hadn't known that. _She_ hadn't known any of it, he was sure of it. Which is why he found himself face-to-face with the enigma who was soon to be known as none other than Inoue Orihime.

One moment, Grimmjow had been ready to crush a bleeding and bruised falling Ichigo underfoot, as his friends looked on in horror. The next, his view had been obscured, by the curvy, full body of a young girl with flowing red locks and a determined grey gaze. Her skin was pale, oh so pale, and stood out in contrast to her fiery hair. Aside from that though, hell, she and Kurosaki could've been siblings! She didn't seem to care that his blood was staining her uniform top, or that now, the screams of his friends were aimed at her, as they stormed the field, all previous agreements forgotten.

Who was she? Why was she interrupting his fight? Who the hell did she think she was, some sort of angel? Even Ichigo seemed displeased by her actions, barely managing to say her name as he was taken from her arms and hauled to his feet, to lean on supportive figures. "I-Inoue-san...what are...what the h-hell are you...doing?"

That was the start of Grimmjow's trip down the rabbit hole.

**…...**

Inoue Orihime hadn't known that Ichigo was going to fight Grimmjow that day.

Neither had Inoue Orihime known much about Ichigo and his friends being in this mess with Grimmjow and his gang, for a little over a year now.

As she made her way down the hill, back towards the train station, the memories flashed across her mind's eye, like a blinking neon sign. She hadn't known just how deeply it ran, this feud of theirs, protected and shielded by her friends and their consorts. Whenever the subject came close to cropping up, it was quickly changed and averted; whenever Grimmjow or his cronies had been drawing near, the girl had been pushed in the opposite direction, for whatever reason thought up by her gal pals on the fly.

It hadn't been done out of malice. It had been done to keep her from worry. Soften her from the cruelty of seeing her friends, nakama, all beaten up without any other reason than "Oh, street punks." Or "Ah, somebody in another class started a ruckus." Or "Oh, I was clumsy off-campus." It was all caused by the same people, day after day.

She knew vaguely of Grimmjow, had heard his name whispered through the corridors. Had caught a few brief glimpses of his blue hair just out of the corner of her eye. Had seen him once or twice in P.E., the only course they shared. She knew he was a bully, that much was certain.

But she had no idea that day after day, a war was being waged on Karakura's grounds. Part of it was simply due to the fact that Grimmjow liked to fight; the other had to do with the fact that the gangs were always looking for new potential customers. School kids were the easiest to get hooked, or recruit for potential membership. With such diligent, die-hard knights as Ichigo wandering campus, those numbers would be severely hampered.

Aizen had never given the order to have Ichigo done away with; after all, he was a high school student, the same age as one of his best bruisers, and it had been somewhat amusing to let Grimmjow have a sworn mortal enemy. Gave him exercise when there was no street work to be taken care of. It was only another year or so, if Grimmjow didn't drop out altogether, and new faces were always showing up on the scene. If they couldn't get the kids during school, they'd just have to wait until after hours. Wasn't like they were all that innocent, anyway.

Of course, Orihime knew none of the dirty details. All she knew was that when she'd stumbled upon the crowd that day, she hadn't been expecting to see her supposed beloved, her idol, being thrashed black and blue by the mythical monster of a student who roamed the halls. And being so unaware, her instincts had kicked in.

Before that man could land another blow, she'd pushed her way through, effectively tackling Ichigo and shielding him with her body. The adrenaline was coursing through her veins, as she got her first real look at the one called 'Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez'.

He wasn't bad looking. Heck, if he weren't such a scary guy, he'd probably have his own devoted fanbase of females following his every move. As it was, the girls in the school shied away from him-unless they were already engaged in the shady side of things. But Inoue didn't know very many girls like that-all the girls she'd gotten to know at Karakura were nice.

He was big, though. Very muscular and tall, especially for a guy of only sixteen. He could've easily passed for an adult. What stood out to her the most though, was his hair-so shockingly blue!-and his eyes. They were blue too, but it wasn't the shade that had drawn her in. It was the intensity behind them.

As he loomed over her, both fists clenched and supposedly ready to strike, the look in his eyes was one of utter bewilderment. Like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now, much less with her. Should he lash out? Yell at her? Shove her aside to get back to the one she now protected? She'd heard he had a hair-trigger temper, but none of it was showing through in that moment. All she saw was confusion.

Then, the rest of the gang had gotten involved, pulling her and Ichigo out of the fray. The crowd had dispersed, Grimmjow and his group had vanished, and Orihime now found herself surrounded by a mix of warm hugs and stern words. As ice was applied to swollen wounds and cloth was dabbed at split lips, she found herself at the center of a lecture, by none other than Ichigo himself. His eyes were narrowed, giving him a sense of threatening, even though his speech wasn't given as purely a reprimand.

"Inoue-san, I don't...I don't want you getting involved like that, ever again. No, stop it-I'm fine now! It'll heal in a few days, I'm not gonna die!" He sighed. "The point is, these guys...are not like your usual schoolyard bullies. And I know you know what those are like." His expression softened. "But these guys? Are like playing Russian Roulette. The fact that I can hold them back at all from inflicting as much damage as they could while out here is a miracle in and of itself. If you get involved...it'll only make things worse. Inoue-san, you can't do anything to stop them. So just stay out of it, okay?"

He was only trying to tell her that she would only become a casualty if she jumped into the thick of it. So then why, why did her chest hurt so bad? Why were her eyes watering? She forced them down, these conflicting emotions, behind a smile and a nod. "Okay, I'm sorry...Kurosaki-kun. I won't do that again..." Her response was enough to make him give her a wan smile and look away, allowing a friend to resume cleaning up the wounds he'd sustained. He didn't even notice as she slipped through the folds of the group, and made her way home.

Why did Kurosaki-kun and Grimmjow-san have to fight like this? What could Grimmjow possibly be involved in that made Ichigo react so violently? Even bullies never drew this much ire and fire from him. Something about Grimmjow was getting to him, driving him into this state of fight-or-die. And it scared Orihime.

But not as much as the look on Grimmjow's face as he'd regarded her. In that moment, she'd really had no clue what was going to happen to her. If Ichigo's words were real, then Grimmjow could just as easily have kicked her aside.

Why hadn't he?

Orihime just couldn't believe it. How could anyone not be, at least somewhere deep down, underneath it all...human? She couldn't adhere to Kurosaki-kun's idea of Grimmjow being a monster. Even with the damage she'd seen him cause. There was still something there.

Of course, she wasn't about to jump in again and get herself killed just to prove a point. She'd promised Ichigo that she wouldn't get involved anymore. So she wouldn't. It wasn't her fight, wasn't her conflict. At the end of the day, she was merely Inoue Orihime, the cute little cheerleader, the perky face, the bubbly, pure one. The one who couldn't actually do anything real. Her existence was practically a joke. What was her purpose?

But thinking that led down that road made her feel sad, and made those uncomfortable questions about her life start cropping up again. So she shoved them aside, and let this day remain in her mind as a memory of what not to do in the future, and "Wow, I never knew people could be this way, so-" insert your adjective of choice here, and a lesson as to her own strengths; she'd stared down the barrel of a living .45 and survived.

That didn't mean that Grimmjow still didn't cross her mind on occasion, though. Or that she didn't sometimes follow him, when he was alone, just to see how far she could get, before he turned in her direction, and she had to act like it was perfectly normal for her to be there, smoothing out her skirt, or adjusting her bag, or waving at somebody-a complete stranger-across campus. In time, it even became something of a game, as she kept a mental checklist of how many normal behaviors he engaged in before the watch was up.

Sometimes, he scratched his head; other times, he coughed. A couple of times, he'd detoured to make a pit stop in the bathroom, and she could only assume that he was in there doing his 'business', seeing as he came out alone and after a few minutes.

As frightful as he was, Orihime couldn't bring her fear of him to override her regard for him as a human being, first and foremost.

Then, the cord snapped.

**…...**

It had been a day like any other. The sun had been out, there was a light breeze in the air, and the shadows had begun to stretch over the ground by the time Orihime had left school. She'd stayed later, as usual, to attend the crafts club. Her after-school activity of choice.

As she'd made her way back towards her apartment though, she couldn't help but feel a sense of steadily building terror invading her senses. Perhaps it was her imagination over-reacting, seeing as today was so quiet, or maybe it was a warning of things to come. Whatever the case, she did her best to speed up her pace without looking too conspicuous, and make it home in one piece.

That was when she'd heard the sound of a rapidly approaching car. Someone must've been in a hurry to get somewhere. Screeching tires. Maybe something had run in front of them? Slamming doors, then steady footsteps, crossing the sidewalk in large spaces, drawing closer. Was there any sort of practice going on at the park today, up ahead? Perhaps this person was running late.

And then, the voice.

"There you are. Don't try to run, woman." Orihime's heart had done a summersault.

She'd still tried to bolt. Tried to flee. Hadn't looked back-that meant certain death in horror movies-just kept focusing on the pavement beneath her, and the pounding of her heart in time with her footsteps. It seemed like she'd been running forever, but in actuality it was only a few feet, maybe a yard or two. She felt them before she saw them: the long, tightly winding arms as they wrapped around her head and upper torso, dragging her backwards. She'd tried to scream, only to have a hand cupped firmly over her mouth.

That same voice as before rejoined the clamor. "Do not make this any harder for yourself." Orihime had done her best to fight, to break free. With one hand still loose, she'd grabbed at her bag and attempted to smack her attacker with it. In return, she'd received a sudden sock to the gut. And then, another blow, this time to the side of her head. Her legs nearly gave way from the force. Orihime's vision was drifting in and out of focus, as her body was now being led back the way she came. Her feet could barely feel the ground, and whoever was holding her could obviously see this.

She tried for whatever reason in her head to walk, but could only stumble along, unable to keep her balance. Then, she was lifted off the ground without any warning.

"I really don't see why I must be the one to take care of this...that pathetic trash Grimmjow, getting us involved in his petty conflicts. I knew nothing good would come of that redheaded watchdog."

_Grimmjow..._A familiar name to Orihime, as she felt herself being lowered onto a hard, but slightly pliable surface of some length. What did he have to do with this? She'd heard a car before all the violence-was it a seat? Yes, it was. Then, the rope. Tied tightly around her wrists and ankles. And finally the gag and sack, shoved into her mouth and thrown over her head. Which was still spinning. A weak moan left her lips, but it was enough to earn her a muffled scolding through the cloth bag. "Quiet, woman. I have no desire to deal with any of this."

Orihime's head had lowered then, and she'd blacked out as the doors had slammed, engine starting up and tires squealing as they'd pulled away from the curb.

**A/N:...yeah...please don't kill me? ^^;**

**I'm still trying my best to get this to all fit w/the original 'Bleach' canon, while at the same time making my own tale w/an AU. I worry sometimes that the balance is off, or that the story's getting hokey, or I misinterpreted a character personality, or that my interpretations of something are horribly off. All feedback is welcomed on this subject-I look to improve my craft, and I always do my best to respond. Even if I don't, please know that I always read your words, and do take them into consideration, though I might not always use them. ^/^ :)**

**So yeah. Hoping that the personalities aren't too out there in this installment, but like I said, it's a work in-progress...mostly, I'm just worried about it being unbelievable [the AU side], or OOC [the 'Bleach' side]. Some further Grimmjow and Orihime development, as well as the introduction of a couple other characters. What do you think? Do you like their inclusion? Or was it too much? Or not enough? Yeah...I ask too many questions.  
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**'Ahem' Next time: where has Orihime been taken? What is Grimmjow's reaction to all this? How will Ichigo and the others cope? What is our Princesses' fate? Please stop by and read again for the answers! Until then, take care!  
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	15. Violet

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Violet**

By this point, Grimmjow was already back in his cell, sprawled out on his cot as his memory drifted between the past and present. He could still see the look on Orihime's face as she finally let him go, but at the same time he saw the look on her face the very first time that they'd met, when she'd interrupted his fight. It still lingered with him, that flash of determination-and how it had taken so much to bring it back out again.

But were the results worth it? If he were to admit it to none but himself, then yes, they were.

After that day in the schoolyard, it seemed like he couldn't get away from the girl. Perhaps it was simply because he was now aware of her presence, or maybe she was following him? No, no-it couldn't be. As startling as that moment may have been, a girl like her had no business following a guy like him. It had to be a heightened sense of perception, and a whole lot of coincidence.

Again, admitting it only in the safety of his own head, Orihime was pretty. Very pretty. Crushingly so, in fact. She had a figure and proportions that most girls would kill for, and she stood out from the crowd because of her wild locks and piercing grey eyes. They haunted his dreams for a good while afterwards. He wondered briefly to himself if her locks had caused her the same kinds of problems as his had growing up. They had to-it wasn't a common color.

Sometimes, just sometimes, when he noticed her off to the side, he'd follow her for a minute or two, out of a twisted sense of curiosity. What did a girl like her get up to? Not very much, that's for sure. She was as pure as snow, sweet as freshly spun sugar. A complete contradiction to himself and everything he stood for. And yet, that burning determination...he couldn't shake it off, no matter how hard he tried. It was always there, in some way or another. That memory. That moment in time, a single drop of dew on a spiderweb.

Then, he found out about Aizen's plan.

It was nearing nightfall when Ulquiorra had brought her back to the compound. An old warehouse they had cleared out on the far side of town, where nobody dared to trespass now. It also happened to be hidden by a nearby forest, and most who went in, unless they were a member of the crew, never came out to reveal its location. It was a secret kept even in death.

Grimmjow hadn't been expecting to see the girl bound and unconscious, much less on his turf. But there she was, still and slung over Shiffer's shoulder as he'd proceeded to a shed in the corner. Ripping off the blind, he threw her inside, effectively awakening her as the shelves of scattered bottles and hardware supplies rattled from the force. She let out a cry of pain, softened by the gag in her mouth.

Ulquiorra merely locked the door, and another Espada thug, Nnoitra Jiruga, who just happened to be nearby, kicked it sharply. He had some serious issues when it came to women. "Shut the _fuck_ up! Or I'll give you a fuckin' reason to cry, _trust_ me!" The threat had been enough to silence her, and the group had dispersed then, finished with the task and gawking at the scene. Ulquiorra was ready to take care of other work for the evening.

The basic lowdown was this: Aizen had heard about the latest skirmish, and his patience had reached its end. He had had enough of Ichigo trying to be a big man, and decided that, if he were such a hero, then he should be able to handle the disappearance-and eventual murder-of one of his close friends, right? And who better than the girl who had made such an impression on Grimmjow the day she'd stepped inside the ring, the innocent and helpless Inoue Orihime?

Aizen could be a blunt bastard. But he was also very calculating and sadistic. The plan fit him to a T.

For the first time in his life, Grimmjow had experienced his first taste of worry. It wasn't like he wasn't used to violence, but to think that this strange little girl would soon be dead was hard to swallow. Maybe it was just because he hadn't actually knocked off anyone in his own age group before? He was used to dealing with adults; they provided more of a challenge. Ichigo was the only one who warranted his attention, seeing as his combat skills were like those of an adult, not some punk with his first shiny switchblade. He was a real opponent, no matter how annoying.

Since Grimmjow was so 'close' to the subject, as Aizen's second-in-commands put it-ha, not really-he was exempt from having to 'care' for the prisoner. That duty mainly fell to Ulquiorra, whose stiff and icy nature made him a perfect candidate to deal with a warm soul like her. Though it certainly wasn't a joy for him. Get in, get out, job done. By this point, her ropes had been replaced with shackles, and the gag removed, and she was allowed to eat the barest minimum of foods. And, if the necessity arose, to use the bathroom. That's where the trees came in. She would have to be crazy to attempt an escape against Schiffer, though. A sign, perhaps, of her lingering sanity, as she never did.

Or maybe she was expecting her 'Prince' to show up and rescue her instead?

A Prince. What a novel concept, indeed. If she really thought that Ichigo was going to swoop in and save her from her captors, then she was far more delusional than Grimmjow pegged her for. He got the occasional glimpse of her in that little shed, or being led to and from it, and couldn't read her expression or mannerisms at all. And he was usually so good at reading people. But this girl, who should've been so easy to figure out, was nearly impossible to understand. She was the ideal prisoner, but was that out of fear, or something else entirely?

Ichigo was certain that whatever had happened to Orihime had to do with Grimmjow and his gang. But whenever he tried to confront them over it, it was as if he were contaminated-they quickly averted their attention and left him behind. It was all a part of the plan, you see-don't give anything away, even though he knew the truth. It would drive him crazy, being unable to act on his suspicions. What could he do, anyway? Tell the police? By this point, Aizen was doing a bang-up job of wrapping the majority of them around his little finger. If he hadn't been so thick-headed and stubborn to save her himself, he would've hit that wall in no time at all.

It was so strange-before, Grimmjow would have jumped at the chance to clash heads with Ichigo, any day of the week. But now, with this secret weighing on his mind, it was as if his will to fight had been sapped away. What was the point of fighting Ichigo when he was at such a disadvantage now? There was no honor in that. If they'd given him access to retrieving Orihime, that would be one thing. But his hands were tied. It was an uneven, unfair battle. And it made him sick.

The longer they kept her in captivity, the further Grimmjow found himself drifting away from his comrades and conflicts. School in general, as well. He found himself on the streets more often than not, picking scraps with anyone who'd engage him, be they foe or random hoodlum. He wasn't getting nearly enough work from the higher-ups to be taking care of. Now, he was coming back with multiple cuts and bruises, some quite nasty. He recalled passing Orihime one early morning, with a black eye and a slash across his side that was still bleeding profusely. He saw her eyes widen, and a gasp threatened to leave her mouth, and she took a step towards him. That was when she was yanked back by Ulquiorra, and forced into her little cell.

Grimmjow just couldn't fathom this female. Just what was going on in that head of hers? The look on her face hadn't been one of fright or revulsion. It had been one of overwhelming compassion. Then, that step. That tiny action. Just what was she up to, anyways?

Thus, the weeks slowly passed, the case grew colder, Ichigo went crazier and Grimmjow gained more battle scars. And still, no orders from Aizen on what to do with her. They knew she was to die, they just weren't sure when. But when that day came...Grimmjow could only imagine who would be given the order.

It made his stomach turn to think about it. He wasn't sure why.

Then, one night. A night that stood out in his mind so crystal clear it was like looking into a mirror that reflected the past. One of the three memories in his head that he'd never forget, not even on his dying day. Even if it were focused on everything, anything else.

He'd gotten a bit inebriated, just a bit, enough to mouth off to some thugs from another district who'd been prowling around the corners of Karakura. This time, he was all on his own, and it was one against five. Usually, he loved those odds. And at first he was having a ball, wiping up the floor with the pricks.

But things had gotten ugly in a second. Out of the corner of his eye, Grimmjow had seen a dull glint rising up in one of the gang member's hands. He'd had enough sense to move quickly to the side-but not quickly enough. A loud bang rang out, and the next thing he knew, a searing pain was tearing through his left shoulder. He let out a roar.

A gun. One of those jerkoffs had brought a gun to the fight. In his normal, sober state, he'd have been able to handle it, no sweat. But tonight, he'd slipped up. And this was the price. Dodging slashes from switchblades and a few more punches, Grimmjow was forced to flee. Just like a dog, with his tail between his legs. It wasn't a thought pattern he'd have followed had he been in a normal state of mind. The battle always came first, and you either won or died trying. But the instinct of survival, of being able to actually fight another day, had kicked in thanks to the booze. Now he was running through the streets and back alleys, holding his useless and bloody arm. Like a fucking coward.

He had no idea how he'd managed to make it back to the warehouse. By the skin of his teeth, seeing as he'd nearly been turned into roadkill more than once during his trek. But he did. Stumbling around, he tried to find a place to rest-a safe haven in this hellhole where he wouldn't be found by any of his compatriots, and heckled for the wound and the lost spar. So far, nothing. And he could hear voices coming up fast. _Shit!_

That was when he saw it, in the corner: that dinky little shed. Again, he moved on instinct.

He scrambled to unlock the double doors with his own switchblade, and practically jumped inside, slamming them shut behind him. Orihime had awoken with a start, to see a sweating, bleeding and panting Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez pressed against the far wall in her cage. The moonlight was shining down through the clouds in the sky, filtering into the lone window above her head, and she could see just how bad the wound on his shoulder was; the hole was wide and fresh, and his white shirt was nearly soaked with blood. She tried to crawl forwards, to offer some sort of support or comfort-enemies be damned, this guy was seriously hurt!-only to be halted by her restraints. The jingle of the chains caught Grimmjow's attention.

"What?" His voice was hoarse, ragged. His breathing was uneven. "The fuck you lookin' at? Never seen blood before?" He was still trying to act cocky, as weakened as he was. This was the first time he'd ever had a wound like this, and he wasn't going to lie: it fucking hurt. And matters weren't helped by the look in the captive girl's eyes, as she surveyed him, figure trembling.

"H-how...how did it happen?" She finished the question with a shaky breath, and once more he looked over at her, still panting. The blood was beginning to drip onto the floor and pool underneath him. He didn't care. He just wanted the pain to go away.

"How the fuck d'you _think_, Princess?" It was the first time anyone had ever applied the moniker to her in such a way. She flinched, but managed to keep up eye contact, waiting for the rest of his response. "A fight. I got in a fight, okay? And I had...a few too many. One of those...cocksuckers brought a gun, and I got...a little too close playing duck, duck, goose. Satisfied?" He gave her what he hoped was a seething glare, but given the amount of suffering he was in, it must've come across as half-hearted. She still didn't shy away.

After a few more moments of silence, he heard it. A sniffle. Then a hiccup. And a sob. His neck nearly snapped turning to face the redhead in the shadows. Was she...crying? Crying? Out of all she'd been through so far, she started crying over this? What, was she scared?

"Don't worry. I'll only...be staying a little while longer." He snorted, and winced slightly, teeth gritted. "Then, you can forget...that I was ever here. 'Kay?" As he turned his head however, he saw her shake her own violently. "What now?"

"It's not that! It's that...you're hurting...you're hurt really, really bad...and I can't-I can't...do anything about it...I hate being so useless...!" Her words stunned him. He was the villain here, yet she was shedding tears over his pain? How the fuck did this work? "Oi, Princess. Are you sick in the head? I ain't exactly a saint here. Save your fucking tears...for someone who actually needs them, jeez." She still didn't stop crying, and in frustration Grimmjow kicked at a bulky object in front of him, sending it flying across the floor towards her. She let out a tiny "Eep!"

"Stupid girl. The hell you cryin' for? Cut it out, it's fucking annoying. Suck it up, will ya?" He huffed, content that her sobs had been silenced by his action, no matter if it had only served to exacerbate the hole in his shoulder. That was when he heard the slow sound of a zipper being pulled. Then, it stopped. He looked over.

Apparently, what he'd kicked over was Orihime's backpack, taken with her when she'd been kidnapped. She was trying to open it. Well, that couldn't be good, could it? If she escaped, he'd never hear the end of it. So, forcing himself to sit up, he leaned over and tried to drag the sack back by him. "Uh-uh. You're not breaking out tonight. Fuck that." He coughed.

"No! That wasn't-Grimmjow-san, I can help you." He froze.

Her voice had taken on a much softer tone now, and he looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Wh...what?" He coughed again. "Yeah, right. And I'm the fucking King of the World." In his dreams, maybe. But her gaze didn't waver.

"We were...learning about t-the human body, in health. And some first-aid techniques. A-and I...well, medical science fascinates me, and that's not the point here!" Did she just interrupt herself? "What I m-mean to say, is...in my bag, I h-have my craft kit. For sewing. I-I could...I could remove the bullet, and stitch up your wound. It wouldn't be professional, I know, b-but-"

"Are you fucking serious?" Her words stopped abruptly. She looked at him questioningly. "No, don't give me that look! I'm asking you a question, because what you just spouted...is nothing but a crock of shit." He leaned back, dragging the bag with him. "As if you would actually...help me. You're looking for an-an excuse to bolt. Ain't that right?" Her eyes widened, and she shook her head vehemently. It was almost comical to watch.

"No, no no! I-I won't try anything, I swear! I-if I do, or you think I am..." she swallowed slowly. "Then, you can...kill me." Again, he did a double take. What was she saying? Was she really willing to put her life on the line, just for him? "I don't believe you. Forget it. I'm not-"

"You're just gonna kill me later, anyways!" Her words stopped him. He looked at her warily. She was now rubbing her arm, glancing down at the dirty floor. "I'm n-not stupid...you guys aren't gonna let me go, are you? And no one's coming for me, no matter what my hopes may be. So the l-least I can do...is be useful in the time I have left." Her gentle gaze landed upon him once more, and her voice was pleading. "Please. All I need is some alcohol, to c-cleanse the wound. That's it. Then, I can...start f-fixing it up."

She was serious. Absolutely one-hundred-percent serious. This girl was honestly offering to help him, one of the ones who had turned her idyllic teenaged existence into a living nightmare. And she was putting her own life up as a bartering tool. The throbbing in his arm had not ceased, and in the darkness of the night and the frustration of the moment, Grimmjow made his decision.

"There's some booze lying around here." She nodded, and his eyes narrowed, as he leaned in just a little closer. "I'm letting you go. But _only_ to fix my arm. You hear me? I may be wounded, but I ain't fucking dead yet. You try anything funny...and I'll snap your neck in half myself. Got it?" She nodded fervently, and with a grunt and low groan Grimmjow managed to stand up, to shuffle towards the closest shelf. He grabbed the nearest bottle, and after unlocking the cuffs on her hands and feet, practically tossed it at her.

"Here. Whiskey. Now get to work. Ain't got all fucking night." Grimmjow leaned back against the wall. The shed was quiet for a few moments, with only the sound of shuffling and puttering. Then, it went still. He glanced over.

Orihime was simply looking at him, bottle in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. An open box lay by her feet. It must've been her sewing case. The look on her face...was it one of sympathy? Pity? Gratitude? Awe? He couldn't be sure. All he knew was that the minutes were ticking by, and he had no idea how long this would take. Plus, if anyone else came back and caught him in this situation...everything would go to Hell from there. So there was no time to lose. "Oi! Woman! Hurry up!"

"Oh! Right! Sorry!" She scurried forward on her knees, and prepared to clean the wound. "Please bear with me, Grimmjow-san...this is going to hurt."

"_Shit_! Mother fucker! Son of a blue-balled _bitch_! You fucking trying t'_maim_ me?" He knew she said it'd be painful, but he had no idea it was gonna be this bad! He'd almost gotten used to the throbbing, and then this? Just his rotten luck. He could only hope that the voices he'd heard earlier had decided to move on from the compound.

Orihime had jumped at his outburst, but hadn't turned back. After he'd calmed down, she poured a little more. This time, the bottle was snatched out of her hand. "It's clean! Just get it over with, already!" He began drinking the remains of the booze.

Nodding, the girl carefully began the job of trying to remove the bullet. It wasn't an easy task, and if Grimmjow thought that the liquor being poured over it was bad, then prodding with a pair of scissors inside was even worse. "Fuck! _Fuck_! What the hell are you doing in there?"

"I'm sorry...it's rather deep. But I'm doing my best to get it out without making it worse. Forgive me." How could she be so damn polite? He was cussing her out! "Whatever." He really couldn't find a comeback. Was the extra liquor kicking in? Maybe.

Eventually, he felt a sharp tug, and heard a faint clatter. Orihime wiped her brow, as the bullet now lay on the ground, amongst the blood. "There. Finally." She looked at him, and even all tense and disheveled, he had to hand it to her, she still looked good. "Onto the...surgery." He merely waved her away.

The stitching wasn't as bad as he thought it'd be. A few times, Orihime had to redo the lines she made, but other than that, it went smoothly. She didn't ask him any questions, and he didn't offer any words of encouragement or inquiry. They were just two people, forced together by circumstance. When it was all over, he would still be the monster, and she would be the virgin. No differences. This night would never leave this room.

After what seemed like an eternity, Grimmjow heard her speak up, "All finished..." Sitting up slightly, he craned his neck to try and get a look at the job she'd done. He could just barely make out a few black lines in his reddened skin, blood smeared around them. He nodded.

"Good. Alright...you know the drill." Putting away her gear in her bag, he re-chained her by the back wall, and made his way out of the shed. A thought occurred to him before leaving, about the bloodstains on the floor, and he looked back at her to offer a final parting shot as he scooped up the bullet. "If anyone asks, just say I came to crash after a hard night. Nothing else. Got it? _Nothing else happened here_." Orihime responded as such, and he left, locking the door behind him. The last glimpse he got was of her sitting on her knees against the wall, gazing at him as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred between captor and captive.

He ran a hand through his hair, the bullet seemingly heavier now in his hand. What a night.

And that _still_ wasn't the end of it.

**A/N: And there we go...one part of the tale has finally been revealed. The story behind the scar on Grimmjow's shoulder. How was it?**

**I was aiming for a way to incorporate Grimmjow losing his arm in canon, but I couldn't keep it exactly the same. So, I tweaked it a little, to get it to fit. Hopefully, it's not too overly dramatic or unbelievable. At the same time, I wanted it to be memorable.**

**[I'm praying that the surgery sequence was acceptable-it's impromptu, but it has to fit in some realm of believability. 'fingers crossed']  
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**Here, Orihime is torn between accepting her fate, and fighting to keep that hope of escape alive. At the same time, Grimmjow is experiencing, for the first time, feelings towards another person. It's a complicated process for all involved. And we're still not done yet! There's more to the puzzle left to be revealed! You'll see in the next update.**

**All feedback is welcomed and appreciated. Next time: more of the past is unraveled. What will be revealed this time?  
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	16. Jigsaw Girl

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Jigsaw Girl**

Sitting up to her chest in soapy bathwater, Orihime was still tromping through the fields of yesteryear. She was still so shaken up over what had occurred before. And now that what once was sealed had been forced open...

Captivity was a new experience for her, yet once she fell into the routine of things, it was relatively uneventful. Aside from hearing the occasional screams and struggling outside-and the beatings, couldn't forget that-she was numbed to her surroundings. It was either a testament to her strength and adaptability, or a sign that she wasn't as sane as she seemed. Then again, there was that habit of daydreaming she had...

After about half a week or so of sitting in that little shed, all alone and unable to call out, much less lie down if she felt sleepy, Orihime felt the sense of loss begin to creep in. Her friends, her teachers, everyone she knew-what were they doing right now? Were they thinking of her? Were they worried? Were they trying to find her? At first, she wanted to believe so. Believe that Ichigo and the others were doing their best to plan out a rescue, to save her from these people. So she waited. And waited. And waited.

While waiting for so very long, one's mind tended to wander places that normally, it shouldn't. She began to consider the outside lives of those who had brought her in, who she'd come to know as Ulquiorra Schiffer-her main caretaker-and Nnoitra Jiruga, AKA a very frightful giant. After their first encounter, she made certain to keep as quiet and low key as possible, unsure if he was lurking around the corner. Unlike Grimmjow, who was merely said to be so dangerous and unrepentant-she hadn't seen him do anything violent, though she didn't deny his actions, either-she had a true fear of this male. His threat had resonated with her; she was fully aware that he wouldn't hesitate to carry out anything he threw onto the table.

Which reminded her: where was Grimmjow? She heard many voices in her time locked up there, but none that sounded as if they could've belonged to that bizarre subject of her fascination. Then again, she'd never even heard his voice, so...

Sometimes, she'd hear older men. Once, she heard an elderly man. A few times, she even heard girls and women. Of course, she heard her captors. But nothing that struck her as even remotely Grimmjow-esque. She didn't know why it mattered to her so much, but it did. Kidnapped or not, she still recalled their one and only encounter, and the look on his face was impossible to banish from her mind. It was in such contradiction to what she'd been told about him, and what she'd seen of him herself.

Then, a few days turned into a week. And a week became a week and a half. Then two weeks. Then two and a half. And Orihime's spirit had begun to falter.

She hadn't had any proper hygiene in what felt like forever. The meals she was being fed were meager and infrequent. At one point, she wondered if they meant to starve her to death inside that brown box. Then, her thoughts shifted; they wouldn't feed her at all if that were the case. She began to muse instead over the fact that, among every voice she had heard outside, not a one had made any mention of her and her circumstances. Were they doing it deliberately, as to keep her in a constant state of paranoia that the end could be coming at any moment? Or did they just not care? Even Ulquiorra mentioned not a word, and he was the one who watched over her! Then again, he never really said much of anything to begin with.

As her hope wilted and faded, three weeks, then four coming on, Orihime began to resign herself to this miserable existence as a victim, unable to save herself and without anyone to play her hero. When had she become so used to letting others make all her decisions for her, anyway? To keep her safe? All it had done was leave her completely unprepared for the curveballs of life. Like this current situation.

One day, she was being led back to the shed, after a much needed bathroom break-she'd been waiting for hours, wondering if she'd be able to hold out until the next time her jailer came calling. With the irregular feeding schedule she was on, it took a while for things to pass through, but when they did...the lack of access to a bathroom at any time, only when they allowed her to use the outdoors, was torture on its own.

As she made her way back to the cell, led by her silent captor, she caught a flash of blue, from the corner of her eye, in the pale morning light. Instinctively, she turned her head, and nearly choked at the sight she saw.

There was Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, in all his fearsome glory-and he also looked like a broken mannequin. His face was swollen, and it appeared that he could barely see out of his left eye, as it was near to being swollen shut. The ugly purple and black coloration seemed to scream at her, and she had to tear her eyes away, only to settle on a sight that may have been better, or worse, depending on your idea of optimism. His side was slashed deeply, the wound measuring at least five or six inches long and one inch wide. It had stained most of his uniform top a deep wine brown. She had no idea where his coat was.

It was like a magnet pulling her. All Orihime saw was the humanity. She didn't see the criminal, or the evil, or the hatred, rage, bitter, pulsing energy that had fueled such scars. All she saw was a wounded man, in need of care. She tried to take a step towards him.

"Woman. What are you doing?" The yank of her wrists brought her back to reality. She was a prisoner, and he was merely a silent passerby. There was nothing she could do. Nothing she could do. All over again, nothing she could do. Shoulders drooping and head lowering, she turned to follow Ulquiorra back to the shed, where she was restrained and locked away once more. Forgotten. Abandoned. Left to the fates to toss about for a bit, like a football.

And then, that night. That fateful night. The night where she'd gotten her first real glimpse at Hell itself-and had willingly walked through the flames. Sometimes, desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

Right?

He had forced his way in, waking her from a light slumber looking for all the world like a savage beast. Blood stained and tattered clothing, messy hair, a frantic gleam in his eyes, and skin that had been shredded like paper. And his shoulder. That gaping hole in his shoulder. Orihime knew that guns did damage, but she had no idea just how much. For crying out loud, civilians weren't even supposed to have access to these sorts of things!

He'd slumped down against the wall, right hand clamped around his other arm, panting as his gaze darted to and from the various scenery. It had taken a few moments before he'd realized that she was in there. Taken the jingle of her bonds to catch his attention.

"What?" And that was it.

She hadn't expected to be bound to the madman with the blue hair so intimately, or deeply. But once she'd seen him, had locked eyes with him, her hesitation had fallen away. Again, all she saw was the pain. He wasn't there to torment her, or mock her situation. He was there, looking for shelter. She couldn't hate him. He didn't like her, yes, but not once had he ever hurt her, laid a hand on her.

Her heart ached, to see another in such a state. She couldn't help the tears that had fallen from her eyes, though she'd stopped them as best she could once Grimmjow made it apparent that he didn't take to watery sympathy that well. That was when her resolve kicked in. And her hope.

Of all things, this man, in his weakened state, had given her hope.

Thus, their unholy union had been signed. A secret, drawn and sealed in blood, as she offered her life in exchange for being allowed to help him. Helping him, of all people! But the deal had fallen from her lips so easily, it was as if she'd been waiting for this moment, to test her limits with this unfathomable creature.

This man, unchained by basic human custom, yet so very human himself.

After that night, Orihime had held her head a little higher, and found herself not so scared to ask things of her captor. There was a new fire in her eyes, no matter how weary her soul or drained her body. If Ulquiorra noticed the change in her demeanor at all, he said nothing, as usual. But suddenly, things didn't seem so dark for her. Orihime's faith had been restored.

Grimmjow was just a man, living out his circumstances. And while those circumstances certainly didn't make him anything close to a saint, he was still human. All of them were, but in particular he called out to her. Because he had the means to turn her beliefs on their head, but held back, time and again. He let her live, let her help him.

If he could keep himself together in one piece though, then why couldn't she?

And soon enough, she'd have to, in a terribly twisted and all too familiar manner.

The moon was full that night, far brighter than it had been before. Its light shone into her cage, casting her pale, dry skin with a milky glow. Her red hair stood out almost like a flare. Only her grey eyes were closed, as she tried to ignore the faint sounds carrying over from a different section of the warehouse, indicating drunken revelry. During those times, she could only keep her wits about her, while keeping herself as small as possible, and praying that whoever was out there forgot she existed just a few yards away.

Chained up. Immobile. Helpless. The perfect target of anyone's attentions, no matter their intention.

However, unlike every other occasion, luck was not on her side this night. She had no idea how they did it-had they used the same method as Grimmjow?-but they did. The lock clicked off, falling to the ground, and the double doors swung open, revealing a pair of somewhat intoxicated female figures. One of them held an open bottle in her hand.

"So, this is who they've got locked up in here? Huh. Ain't much t'look at, if you ask me."

"She's the one who Aizen-sama and his guards are so eager over? You gotta be kidding me!"

As the doors closed slowly behind them, the duo strolled and swaggered up to Orihime, allowing her to get a better look at them and their features. They were female, yes, and not much older than her. College age, at least. One was clad in a cropped tank top and tight jeans that flared out towards the bottoms. She had short blonde hair, and a lone green eye-the other was covered by a bizarre eye patch, reminiscent of a skeleton's eye socket. It was a sort of mask fragment.

The other, who was holding the bottle, had long black locks pulled into two pigtails. Dressed in a halter top and a miniskirt with knee-high boots, she took another swig of her beer, as she surveyed Orihime with similar eyes, aside from color, and a look that could only be described as superior disgust. "Hey. Menoly." Another sip. "You think anyone's had their 'fun' with this bitch yet?"

The one called Menoly shook her head. "I doubt it. Aizen-sama stated that he would personally discipline anyone who 'interfered with his plans involving her', as he so put it." She rolled her eyes. "How much fun can you get outta a small fry like this, though? I mean, wasn't she supposed to be dead like, a couple o'weeks ago, Loly?"

Now identified, Loly's superiority turned into a darkened scowl. "Yeah. That's what they _said_. Yet here she is, looking for all the world like she doesn't have a care." Without warning, her fist slammed into the wall to the right of Orihime's head. She flinched, but said nothing, as Loly knelt down closer. Her breath reeked of booze.

"Isn't that right, you little whore? You've just been cantering and coasting along here, under the radar. Said that you were s'pposed to be offed weeks ago, to drive some idiot busybody crazy-what was his name again? Itchy-go?" Orihime's heart skipped at hearing the moniker. So that's what this was all about...!

"Ngh!" Loly had now grabbed a fistful of Orihime's long flowing locks, pulling her head forwards as she took a long sip from her bottle. It was half empty. "But you behaved so well, so _preciously_, that they forgot all about killing you! They set it to the side-hell, they even considered holding you merely for ransom instead! What the _fuck_?" More drinking. "Our beloved Aizen-sama has more important things to worry about than you! Besides, you can't just kidnap someone, to kill 'em...only to wuss out!" In response, Menoly nodded. A wicked grin was beginning to form on Loly's painted lips.

"So, we've decided. Since Aizen-sama seems to have..._forgotten_, his earlier intentions, we're going to do him a favor, and kill you for him! Then, we'll be advanced through the ranks, get some real status 'round here! Won't that be so exciting, huh? Huh?" She shook Orihime's head roughly, as Menoly snickered in the shadows. "Come on, laugh for me, bitch!" But no sound left her mouth.

That was when the bottle smashed into the wall, drenching the right side of Orihime's head and face with the remaining beer. It trickled down to her neck and shoulders, soaking into her uniform top. The smell was so strong, it made her head start to spin. But still, she did all she could to stay focused on her two attackers. Things were getting nasty and fast, and if she allowed herself to slip, the damage could wind up far worse than just a mere cat fight.

"What d'you say...huh, Menoly?" Loly's lips were less than an inch from Orihime's ear, as she traced her throat with the jagged edge of the beer bottle. The redhead held back a gulp. "Let's be good girls, just like lil' miss Princess here. Let's...teach her a lesson. Let's follow our orders." Her sleepy pout was once more a feral grin, and this time, Menoly joined her, leaning over her shoulder. Her visible green eye was gleaming violently.

"I agree, Loly. Here, let's start with...this." She too gripped a handful of Orihime's long hair, and slowly began to pull. "I can't stand this gross hair. It's such an ugly color. I think she'd look much better bald...don't you, Loly?" Menoly began to tug harder, and Orihime's head followed her motions, as the strength behind her actions increased. "Let's help her clean up. Let's get her ready for her funeral."

With a sharp rip, she'd managed to pull out a decent clump of the girl's amber locks, and Orihime had to swallow hard, to hold back the yelp that wanted to come tumbling out. It would only serve as fuel for the duo's fire. She had to be strong. Be strong. She'd dealt with bullies before; she could handle this.

"Ooh, good thinking, Menoly. I like your style! Ha ha!" With a high-pitched laugh, Loly too pulled at the chunk of hair she still held in her grasp. It came out with snaps and tears, and once more Orihime had to force down the screams. "She's looking better already!"

When she was growing up as a child, living alone with her brother, Sora, Orihime had always been the target of schoolyard bullies. Right before she'd entered middle school, a bunch had cornered her one day in the bathroom, and in a particularly vicious assault, had chopped off her long copper locks. She'd never told her brother the truth about what had happened, though. She couldn't bear the thought of him worrying over her safety like that. He was already so pressured as it was.

That was when he'd given her those hair clips, which she still wore, to this very day. And then...

After Sora had died, Orihime had faced the true brunt of the bullies wrath. No longer did they hide or trash her belongings or call her names, or even go after her hair. They proceeded to beat her down, day after day, making her feel lower than dirt. She had felt so sorry for herself then, alone without family or friends.

Until she'd met Tatsuki. And things had changed.

She now had someone who cared for her, cared what happened to her. Someone who wouldn't let anybody lay a hand on her. Someone who helped her to stand on her own two feet again. Someone who led her to other friends, and helped her to establish a semi-normal life. Someone who helped her to let go of the past.

The bullies were gone. Now, Orihime had no worries. Life was a teenager's paradise. She could laugh, play, love, to her heart's content. She'd fallen into a secure pattern and rhythm. And now, as she sat there, her hair being pulled out piece by piece with who knew what else lying in store for her, Orihime realized that perhaps, it was a little too secure.

So used to relying on others for strength and guidance. Always following after Tatsuki, always watching Ichigo. Never living for herself, her dreams. It was such a hard concept to understand. Even now, as an adult, she was still figuring it out. But in that one night, for just that lapse in time, she'd gotten the message.

Her safety net wouldn't always be there. Life was going to keep throwing disasters her way, and unless she could learn to stand by herself, without the training wheels, she'd never get anywhere. She'd never survive.

She'd never make it out of this place alive.

Perhaps that was why she was so drawn to Grimmjow: when he paid attention to her, he never tried to soften the blows or make things easier to handle. He gave her the truth, treated her like a human. A human, caught in the same cycle of dissonance and grief as he. But a human nonetheless, bound in flesh and subject to vices and instinct, desires and pain. The only difference between them was that he faced every single one of his head-on. She kept shying away, like a child afraid of the ball.

She'd helped him. And now he was going to help her. She would prove that it had been worth it to keep her alive-if she was going to die at the hands of these two mad women, so be it. But she would never give them the satisfaction of hearing her scream, or seeing her cry. She was made of far tougher stuff than either of these two could ever dish out.

"Eh? What's with that look?" A flicker of determination had returned to Orihime's gaze, as she looked at Loly unblinkingly. "You...you tryin' to mock me, huh? Mock us?"

The blow hit without restraint. "Fuck you!" Although her cheek and jaw stung and throbbed, Orihime refused to give in. Slowly, her head turned back, face reddening and swelling as a bit of spit and blood began to trickle from her lips, and she regarded Loly with that same stare, only this time, the determination was more than a mere spark. It was a shower of them. This infuriated the brunette.

"Come on, Menoly! I don't think she's getting the message!" With that, the strikes rained down-punches and kicks to any part of her body they could reach. At one point, Loly had grabbed ahold of her hair, slamming her head back into the wall a few times for good measure. "You like that? Huh? Answer me now, you cocky little whore!" Orihime coughed, blood dribbling down her chin, but again, even with the agony of her wounds, refused to give them that satisfaction. By this point, both girls had had enough.

"Oi. Menoly." Loly waved her hand. "Did you see where the bottle neck went to?" The blonde nodded. "Give it to me." Bending over, Menoly picked it up from where it had been discarded when the assault began, a foot or so away. One of the edges had cracked but other than that it was still sharp. Loly's face lit up with a new insanity.

"Say bye-bye, Princess!" Reaching back, she prepared to thrust the broken neck into Orihime's exposed throat. Her heartbeat was hammering in her ears, and through her swollen vision, she could barely make out the glint of the green glass in the moonlight.

Suddenly, the doors had slammed open.

**A/N: Yeah...that's chapter sixteen. The encounter w/Loly and Menoly. Had to include it somehow.  
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**Don't really have much to say here...not feeling so hot ['is currently trying to mend a broken heart']. I'll leave you all to your opinions and feedback, which are welcomed w/open arms. Just...please be gentle? ^^; I'm kinda fragile right now.  
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**Hope you're all doing well, and that, even if it wasn't perfect, you enjoyed this chapter. It's what I aim for. Later.  
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	17. Vermillion

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Vermillion**

"Shit...just one...only one...it was only meant t'be one...!"

Tossing and turning upon his cot, Grimmjow was stuck in the thick of the past, just as much as Orihime was. The only difference was their points of view, and their surroundings. Other than that, they were equals looking into a mirror.

He hadn't had any idea what possessed him to do what he did that night. Was it out of a sense of obligation, a need to repay his debts? Was he just sick of the whole situation, in general? Was he feeling rebellious? Was he simply bored? Or was it something else entirely? By this time, he was having a very hard time denying the idea of the latter.

He'd made his way onto the complex, the sounds of clinking bottles and laughter reaching his ears. He'd seen a few familiars, a few small fries, and a few new faces, all gathered around and drinking to their heart's content. Someone had started a mini bonfire with wood from the nearby forest, and all he could hope was that the stupid, intoxicated fucks weren't too wasted to remember to keep it under control. Like hell he wanted to be the one to try explaining to Aizen how the warehouse had wound up exploding in flames.

As the fire danced and swayed before his clouded blue eyes, it caught upon the corner of a particular structure. The shed. The shed where, not but two weeks prior, Grimmjow's arm had been 'rescued' by none other than that questionable prisoner, Inoue Orihime. He still hadn't opened his mouth about anything that had happened, and from the looks of things she hadn't either. She was actually holding up her end of the bargain. What a surprise.

Then, he noticed that the doors were ajar. The doors were _never_ allowed to be ajar.

Before he could even register the thought in his mind as to why this could be he'd taken off, boots pounding against the ground. No one had paid him any mind, as he'd flung the doors open. What lay inside was enough to make him see red.

Orihime had been slumped against the wall, waiting to meet death at the end of a beer bottle. She hadn't been expecting, however, to have her one-way trip interrupted by the entry and voice of one Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez. As she struggled to focus her heavy head and eyes, she could obviously hear the confrontation between the pair of females and the bruiser play out.

"G-Grimmjow..." Loly had stuttered out, effectively startled.

"What the fuck," he'd slowly spat, "d'you think you're doing? Who gave you orders to come in here, huh? Or did you just think that you'd have yourselves a party, and no one would notice? Dumb ass broads!"

"Shut up!" Menoly had snapped, fists balled at her sides. "We're just doing what the boss forgot to take care of before! You don't get any say here!" Grimmjow rounded on her.

"You better believe I get a fucking say in this. If it weren't for me, she wouldn't even be here. So fuck off!" Where were these words coming from? Why was he so desperate to save this girl, who now lay battered and broken before him? His eyes locked with hers, for just the briefest of nanoseconds, but he still caught it.

That spark of life. That flash of defiance. That aura of no fear.

"What, you feelin' sorry for her or something? No way! You fucking pussy-how the hell did you even get to be a top member of Espada, anyway? Can't even do your goddamn job right!" Loly had obviously had enough of his words, and now lunged at him with the broken bottle.

It happened in an instant. First, Loly was running. The next, she was slammed into the wall to the left of Orihime, as if she were nothing more than a doll. The broken bottle flew from her grip, shattering in a corner. She let out a groan, struggling to sit up.

"Stay down! Fucking weakling!" As Grimmjow shook his head, trying to ignore the fresh itching in his left shoulder-when were those stitches meant to come out, anyway?-Menoly pulled out a switchblade from her back pocket.

"You son of a bitch! You'll pay for that!" She was charging at him, ready to stab him in the stomach. But Grimmjow was quicker. Spinning around, he caught her arm, twisting it behind her and driving the blade into her lower side, by her own hand. She let out a shriek, and he tossed her to the ground. She lay there, trembling and whimpering, as her top began to darken with blood. The hilt of the blade was sticking out at an angle, and the revealed firelight from outside mixed with the moonlight through the window showed it to be a shade of dull gold.

"N-no...Menoly...you-you sick...bastard..." As Loly tried again in vain to rise to her feet, Grimmjow marched over. Without a second thought, he kicked her in the abdomen. Down she went, crying out and spluttering. His eyes were hard and emotionless as he surveyed her from above.

"When you can walk again, take your stupid partner, and fuck off. And don't even _think_ about mentioning a word of this to anybody. I spared you tonight, but only 'cause I'm feeling nice. Next time? I'll hunt the both of you down, and slit your fucking throats so deep your heads will go flying." Loly let out a whimper, but managed to nod as Grimmjow made his way towards the chained and bleeding Orihime.

It had been the most unexpected image she could have conjured up in her sixteen years of life. Towering over her was none other than Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, and he'd just saved her from a brutal beating, set to result in her death.

Why?

"You're coming with me." That was when she felt the fumbling fingers running over the cuffs around her wrists and ankles. Again, the gleam of a blade, then clicking, and finally, freedom of movement. Her limbs were no longer bound. What was he doing?

"Get up. And keep your goddamn mouth shut." Not too hard, seeing as over half her face was swollen like a balloon. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders and shoving a bundle into her arms-her backpack-he began to lead her to the door, and then outside. The drunken revelers were still boozing it up; not a one noticed as he started to half guide, half drag Orihime towards the trees, and then through them. They only came across as tall shadows in her narrow vision, and she was forced to lean against Grimmjow for support. He growled, but did not make an effort to push her away. Somehow, this comforted her, even if she had no idea what was going on.

"You'd better be able to walk, otherwise you're fucking screwed. Can't believe I'm actually doing this..." He really couldn't. Even though he had a plan set up to explain it all away, there was still a chance that things could go awry. If he failed to cover his tracks well enough tonight...he was a dead man.

"Here." At long last, they'd reached a clearing. It was the edge of the forest, leading to a road, with a grassy field extending across on the other side, beyond the rail. He shoved her forwards, and she nearly fell down. "Idiot! Get moving!"

Although her body was aching and screeching at her to lie down and rest, Orihime had made herself turn around, to try and get what she'd thought would be a last look at her former captor, now savior. Was he really doing what she thought he was...? "G-Grimmjo-"

"Shut up and get going! Before I change my mind and kill you myself!" He wasn't looking at her now. He couldn't bear to. As much as that one side of him had screamed for the contact, holding her so close, the other was screaming at him for denying his very DNA. For not finishing her off himself. "If you keep going on this road, to your right, you'll make it back to the main part of Karakura. Don't stop for nothing." He'd had to look at her then, just to make sure she wasn't crying any tears of gratitude. "And don't think this is 'cause I'm feeling sorry for you or nothing! I'm just sick of having you around, stinking up the place with your girly scent! This is for my left arm! Now get!"

It was a few seconds before he finally heard her shuffling off, obviously trying to stay balanced with the amount of pain she was in. Girl could certainly take a beating. Had he really meant to say the bit about his arm? Well, it wasn't like he didn't repay his debts or anything...

She couldn't speak. She couldn't cry. She couldn't nod, could barely wave. But it didn't matter. The only thought on Orihime's mind, as she crossed that desolate stretch of tar:

_Thank you...Grimmjow._

Just like he'd said, she made it back to Karakura Town in the early hours of the morning. She'd wound up collapsing in front of a building with large stone steps, which turned out to be the public library. As the town gradually began to awaken and set into motion, it wasn't too long before she was found, and proper attention was called.

It was a true miracle. Somehow, Orihime had made it back home. And she had the most unlikely source to thank for it.

When she awoke, hooked up to machines and IVs in a hospital bed, her friends were gathered around her. Tatsuki was holding back tears of relief, while Chizuru was bawling openly. Chad and Ishida were simply smiling quietly, and Ichigo...Ichigo was standing there, looking for all the world like a condemned man whose sentence had been overturned at the last possible second. As much as she wanted to hug him and say it was okay, Orihime was unable to-she could barely form the words in her head. There must've been a lot of pain killers involved.

The story was a bit tricky to cook up for the authorities, but somehow, once she was better, Orihime managed to pull it off. She'd been at home, sick as a dog for weeks-which was corroborated by her friends-and had gone out mistakenly, under the impression that she was feeling better. It was all in a haze of illness, compounded by lack of hygiene and good food-she'd even been too sick to make proper meals, but had been too stubborn to call anyone and tell them to help her out. Hence the unwashed uniform, grubby appearance, malnourishment, and leaving her house at six in the morning.

Grabbing her backpack out of habit, she'd wound up near the library, when she'd been attacked by random thugs for money. She didn't get a look at her assailants, and they left her when they realized she had nothing on her. She'd dragged herself to the steps, where she'd collapsed from her wounds and sickness. Although the authorities seemed skeptical, her friends reassured them that this strange behavior, especially under the influence of a nasty virus, was quite in-character for her, seeing as she'd wound up in accidents before out of sheer clumsiness.

It was only after the cops had left and she'd been discharged from the hospital that a somewhat closer version of the truth had come out. But again, it had taken some time to formulate.

She had been kidnapped coming home from school, by some thugs from the Espada group, who were looking for an easy ransom, out of frustration of not getting a better cut. A pretty high school girl, all alone? A perfect target. They were far lower on the ladder, and most likely acting out on their own. She'd been kept for weeks before the criminals had realized that she really had no connections at all, and thus wasn't much of a cash cow for them. They certainly didn't want the authorities involved, much less their own boss.

So, after beating her senseless for being so useless, they'd dropped her off by the library, where she'd crawled up the stairs and passed out. Again, she'd never gotten a look at her attackers-the entire time, she'd been blindfolded and bound thoroughly.

The story was a bit hard for them to swallow at first, but Orihime's battered and frightened state was soon enough to convince them otherwise. That, and the Espada were made up of all types; how unbelievable was it that some stupidly violent crooks could fill its lineup as well?

Unfortunately, even with the vague details, this only served to solidify their hatred of the blue-haired male and his main gang. Not what Orihime had been aiming for. After everything that had happened, she could never believe again that this man had no humanity in him. Her story had been her way of repaying the favors he'd done for her; she was protecting him. But it still hadn't worked.

Apparently though, Ichigo had seen a glimpse of something more through her facade. After the others had left, he had tried to get her to open up more about what had really gone down. She refused to give in, and eventually he had dropped the subject. Life had moved on. But she still couldn't shake the fear that somehow, some way, someday, Ichigo would find out. Whatever the reason was, deep down inside of her, there was a part of her that never wanted anyone to know about what had occurred during her time in captivity.

It wasn't out of shame or fear of retribution. In a bizarre way, those moments between her and Grimmjow were...special. She'd gotten to see a side of him that most people probably never lived to tell about. She wanted to keep them a secret, until her dying day. No one else would understand how those incidents could possibly be precious to her, especially to her. But they were.

Although the hatred for the Espada had kept up after the kidnapping though, the fighting hadn't. The skirmishes became fewer and far between, as one by one, the members began dropping out of school to take to the streets entirely. Grimmjow was the last to go.

There was a strange heaviness to Orihime's heart when he'd finally stopped showing up for class and on campus altogether. Though they said not a word to each other before and after that period of time, there was still a reassurance present whenever she saw him among the scattered crowds. She remembered what he had given her unintentionally, and how he'd helped her to survive. He was still in her thoughts at graduation.

Maybe that had helped to play a part in her managing to make it through college and medical prep too, now that she thought about it.

As they sat there, both confined in their separate prisons, all they could think about was each other. How so much had been shared and denied between the both of them...and now, ultimately lost. The past was the past, and what had brought them together had been pushed aside in favor of what had forced them apart.

Lying in their beds, Orihime at last felt the hot tears coursing down her cheeks, while in his cell, Grimmjow had his pillow over his face, screams of rage and utterly broken curses making their way through torn, bloody lips.

Even her bad habits had rubbed off on him.

**A/N: And there you have it-the conclusion to their pasts. Sorry if this one was a bit confusing-this time, the memories are being seen through both sets of eyes at the same time. ^^;**

**As always, hope this was believable and entertaining for you all. It was a little tricky coming up w/the false stories. But then again, police officers don't really play a big part in 'Bleach' canon either, so I figured that if they're partially corrupt here, then they might also buy into Orihime's concoctions, to avoid any trouble. I mean, why chase down a criminal element when their boss may very well be helping to line their pockets? Something like that, I dunno.**

**What about the showdown between Grimmjow, Loly and Menoly? Was it up to par w/the original fight? Or could it have been handled better? Inquiring minds would like to know. ^^ I always love hearing back from all of you.  
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**Next time: you'll see. That's all I'm dropping here. ;) **

**Before I forget: I have a new GrimmHime oneshot on my second account [link can be found at this profile], so if any of you are still itching for a fresh GrimmHime fix...well, I have a story for you. I've been editing and re-editing so much of it that I wound up w/FOUR different versions, and could only pick one. ^^; Hopefully, it's the right one. **

**The story is titled...well...'blush, sighs' It's something of a songfic [as in, inspired by a song], and it's titled 'Moves Like Jeager'. Yes, it's a pun on THAT song, inspired by this video: ** www . youtube watch?v=jxb3iBO49ps&list=FLCVJy0qIJb7NIUYesZOAneQ&index=96&feature= plpp _ video **[remove the spaces]. Uhh...have fun? 'ducks'****  
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**Take care, everyone. And thank you all for your words of encouragement and support-I'm doing much better now.  
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	18. Panic Switch

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Panic Switch**

The falling leaves and rapidly cooling weather only served to assure Grimmjow to the finality of his decision.

As he sat once again in the courtyard, chin resting on clasped hands, blue eyes looking straight ahead but noticing nothing that was in front of him, his thoughts continued to linger on that one face who continued to dance through his memories. Like a ghost, she haunted him, with every click of the lock and every gust of wind. He remembered her breathing, her gaze, her scent.

The bodies in front of him were a million miles away, as far as he was concerned. He just couldn't get it out of his head, the things he'd said...and what she'd said to him in return. It was the only time he'd ever managed to make her cry. Never once, when he'd insulted her or her friends, had he been able to break through. Not even when he'd exploded or cussed her out, using language that her sensitive ears should have withered at hearing, had she snapped or lost her resolve. The more he pushed her away, the closer she came. Ever since that first day. That first time.

He stiffened. Well...that wasn't entirely all true. He'd managed to make her cry, once before. But it wasn't out of malice or driving her away. When he'd wound up using her cell for shelter, she'd cried then. Over his wounds, and being unable to do anything about them. Even when she was caged against her will, all she could care about was those around her. Even when he hit her with all he had, she'd still cared about him.

And maybe, just maybe, deep down inside of him...

"Line up!" There it was, the call. Recreation time was over. Letting out a sigh, Grimmjow stood up, to join the mass of prisoners that made up his cell block unit. Another day, another day. Before, he'd been indifferent. Then, he'd been optimistic. Now, he was just lost.

_Why?_ His fingers twitched as he fell into file. _Why does she affect me so? Like some kinda goddamned disease..._even his scar had been acting up. At night, he'd wake up to feel it itching, burning and throbbing against his mattress. All he could do was trace his fingertips over the ribbony wound, and think of moonlit nights past, and whiskey, and blood, bullets, red hair, pale skin, grey eyes, soft flesh, the scent of flowers and sugar, even among the living dead-

There he went again. Thinking about her. He couldn't even erase her name from his mind, Inoue Orihime. Before, it was easy for him to think of it as such a pathetic and malleable name. Feminine. Easily shattered. Now, it was resolute as stone, steel-and it was cold. It reminded him, yet again, of all he had forsaken. Of all that would never come back to him.

The lines began to move, and he followed their steps, eyes forever focused on the ground and face set in a grave scowl. He saw her in his dreams, for Chrissakes! For once in his entire life, he was being presented with a situation that couldn't be explained away by a simple "Destroy everything, and fuck all the rest." Something under the surface wasn't letting him do it. Not to her again. He'd tried to do it before, had managed to do it once, and was now paying the price for it. He was suffering, as if his oxygen supply had been cut off.

It had been at least two months since they'd last seen each other. Since he'd told her what he had. He vaguely recalled, from his high school days before dropping out, that her birthday was sometime in September. He'd never bothered asking her about it the last time she'd been here, so caught up in his own struggles and trials. And anniversaries. He wondered how she'd celebrated it, or if she'd celebrated it at all. She lived alone, right? And she hadn't mentioned anything about her friends, either. Never mentioned any names in all their time together. Only the one he asked of her.

He was nearing the entrance to the prison complex, and still his mind was in thoughts of elsewhere. Of other places and situations. He'd tried, numerous times, to blame all his indiscretions on being startled the first time, booze the second time, and stress the third. But it never really worked. In all three events, he'd still had the power to do whatever the hell he pleased. And even if he found male opponents more satisfying, it didn't mean he'd never strike out if a girl, or woman, wanted to fight or got in his way. So then, what made her so special? What made him falter over her?

Now his feet were carrying him towards the stairs, and then down, and along the row of cells. One by one, each prisoner was returned to their chambers, locked in securely. One by one, each face disappeared, until none were left. Just guards. No prisoners. No animals. No monsters. No vulgar displays of humanity's finest rotting offspring.

Sitting in his cell, Grimmjow's mind twisted and turned, pondered and wandered. What was bugging him so much over this? He'd said what was on his mind, hadn't he? He'd told her the truth, and she'd said she'd admired his honesty. So what made things any different now?

He could call her. She'd left her contact information behind, and it wasn't like he was completely at a loss to reach out to her. But he may as well have been. This feeling in him was screaming for input, and a better resolution than punching in plastic numbers and issuing a fake apology. It wasn't that he wanted to apologize, anyway, was it? He wanted to...to...to...what the hell did he want, anyway? What did he want from her? Did he just want _her_, in general? This strange little girl who'd given him the time of day, with no reason than that she'd wanted to? That she still saw something in him that was redeemable?

No, that wasn't quite it, either. She hadn't really tried to redeem. She'd never told him not to do any of the things he had. She never asked him why he did them. All she asked was about him. Who he was, underneath all the bloodletting and scars and brands. And even then, she'd taken those with him, too. When had she actively tried to change him, on her own? Any changing that was going here was of his own volition, in response to her refusal to accept him as anyone but himself. She saw that brutal being underneath it all, and she reacted to it. Responded.

She still cared. Why, he didn't know, but she did. And when it came to her, he did too.

But now, he was going to find out why. And already, an idea was beginning to form in his head. It would be risky, of course. Deadly, too. Probably bloody. His muscles would get a good workout. But damn if he hadn't wanted to give these losers a real show ever since he got here.

Besides, wasn't his motto to fight, or die trying? Looks like it was time to try again.

**…...**

It was a few nights later that the plan went into action.

The rolling shower came right on time, as usual. The other three levels had already been tended to, and now his floor was being taking care of. He could hear the squeaking wheels as the contraption clattered down the line, and each door was pounded with a resounding knock, before being unlocked. Some occupants were awakened, others were merely annoyed. But the routine was the same: strip them down, chain them up, and then open the curtain. Just like always.

Grimmjow could feel his body tensing, as the small parade drew closer and closer. Closer and closer, like a mouse to a trap. He was the cat, waiting to pounce, better than any metal spring. He just had to pin his hopes on the guards not having made any changes to the schedule since his last visit out. People watching had come in handy, after all.

There it was. The knocking. "We're coming inside, Jeagerjaquez! You'd better be ready!" He stood, listening to the beeping and then slow creaking as the heavy door swung open. As expected, he made his way forwards, to the guards who waited, surrounding him with the shower just slightly off to the right, for him to begin disrobing. Without missing a beat, he began to pull down his pants. The guards seemed bored with the routine, and why wouldn't they be? Three rows of this already? They probably wanted to go home and relax already.

_Heh. Then why don't I give 'em some fucking shuteye?_ And that was it. Grimmjow sprung. Arms swinging out to the sides, he got the first two guards with his elbows, one in the gut and the other in the jaw. The latter went crashing to the ground, while the former let out a gasp and fell against the shower, sending it back a few inches.

"Shit! We got a-" But before the third could drop the cuffs and pull out his baton, Grimmjow was on him. Cracking him in the face with a well-aimed right hook, the guard went flying, and the male took off running. Straight down the hall, don't look back. He had three staircases to clear, plus the courtyard door and fence to take care of, provided that the guards didn't start swarming him early.

It wasn't until he'd taken his first few steps down the stairs that the alarm began to blare. Already, a pair of guards were preparing to cut him off at the bottom, batons and the like at the ready. As if that would be enough to take him out, though. He'd been raised on this shit!

Just as he neared the bottom of the steps, he gripped at the railings and leapt up, swinging his legs. His feet kicked out before they could strike at him, smashing in their faces. The force behind the kicks was enough to snap one guard's head back, squashing it into the back of his shoulders with a crack. Dodging over their fallen forms, he practically slid and sprinted down the next hallway, now followed by a protesting chorus from the cells that went past him in a blur. The commotion was really getting underway.

This time, four guards were awaiting him at the halfway point of the staircase. A smirk graced his lips then. Clever, but not clever enough. They weren't counting on him to pull any wild card stunts, and that's what he was about to do. With more guards already hot on his tail and following him down, Grimmjow took the plunge.

Gripping the railing, he jumped over the side of the stairs, falling two levels to the ground before. His figure hit the stone with a heavy thud, and rolled to the side a few feet. There was stunned silence for a few moments. Then...

"What the hell? He can't be human-!" Without any resistance or halted activity, Grimmjow arose, shaking off the fall like it was nothing, and continuing his run for the door. Knock out two more guards-thank God this level was so empty; they must've thought he would head for the front. What idiots. There were only two left in front of the courtyard doors, and even they weren't fast enough to beat his reflexes. Catching the first's arm and using his own snatched baton to crack him in the back of the head sharply, the other was completely at his mercy, as Grimmjow grabbed a hold of his face, and smashed his head into the wall. But not hard enough to knock him out.

The guards would be here in minutes. Yanking up his target by bloodied mug, Grimmjow snarled in his face, "Punch in the fuckin' code, and let me out! Or I swear I'll crush your skull in with my bare hands!" To emphasize his threat as he shoved him towards the control panel, his thumbs pressed painfully into his temples. The man let out a cry of agony, and in his frantic fear quickly pushed in the numbers without a second thought. Just as the guards were reaching the floor, the door swung open.

And Grimmjow was out like a flash.

By this point, not only were the guards swarming and the alarms blaring, but the searchlight was going in a frenzy, desperate to locate the escapee. Grimmjow could feel the ache in his lower limbs and back-the fall hadn't been as clean as he'd wanted-but no big deal, he was still functional. Rushing for the right side of the yard, he began gaining speed as he threw himself at the high wall, holding the fence in place. Springing off the cement, he managed to grab at the metal links.

Shit, when had it gotten so cold out here? Of course, he'd known about the weather before running out. Knowing these fuckwads though, he'd have expected the fence to be electrically charged, too. It didn't mean anything other than that he had to keep moving, and faster. With a flurry of movement, he scaled the long boundary, eyeing the barbed wire coils up above. They'd hurt, but he doubted they were anything really special. Just sharp. And he was used to knives by now.

"Look! There he is! On the East side! Send it in-get them to shine the searchlight there! This bastard's crazier than I thought!" The guards were piling up outside, and had already pinpointed his location. That was okay, though-aside from guns, there wasn't much they could do to him at this point. What, were they gonna scale up after him?

He just had to watch out for the snipers. They'd get you, those snipers.

And just as he thought. With the barbed wire only two feet away from his hands, a bang went off, and a bullet went whizzing past his right leg. Then another one, this time grazing his right cheek, nearly cracking his mask. He sped up his climbing process, the cold merely a tingle to his skin by this point. Then, another shot fired, and he had to flinch, if only for a moment-it had caught his lower right side. He could feel the blood start pooling out. But he wasn't going to stop here.

_I've gotten this far. So long, motherfuckers! I'll see you all in Hell!_ With a sudden burst of speed, he was up on the top, balancing precariously as the jagged points in the wire sliced and stabbed his palms. If he didn't aim right, he could wind up hanging from the spools like a caught fish. Another bullet whistled past his head, and he made his move.

"Urgh!" The fall was long, but seemed to end before he even hit the ground. The dried grass crumpled beneath him, and he coughed from the force and vibrations running through his body, though ultimately nature was preferable to cement, even if the fall was longer than two stories. Rolling onto his side, he forced himself up onto his knees, then his feet, even as his wounds hollered in protest.

He had done it. He had made it outside.

Continued speed was a crucial factor here, as he now had to make his way around the side of the building, to the front. He could make it past the gates, but the guards could still flood out onto the grass. If they surrounded the front before he reached the road...he was screwed. What a challenge! His heart was pounding, ticking like a time bomb, as a maniacal grin spread across his face. So freeing! So absolute! Oh, how he'd missed this! It was do or die now, and nobody could hold him back when he was like this!

When the Pantera came out to play, the whole world had better be on lockdown, if they wanted to live.

The guards couldn't even begin to keep up with his pace as the tar strip came into view. The night air felt so good against his sweating, bruised flesh, as he zoomed down the hill. Like a jungle cat. A true predator. Already, the sirens were becoming a distant memory, as the complex grew smaller and smaller. It was nighttime now, and he was running in the middle of nowhere...which just happened to be on the outskirts of civilization. Once he reached the bottom of the hill and turned that corner, he was home free. Steal or hot wire a car, and he had his pick of anywhere.

He knew exactly where his destination was, too. Thankfully, the guards didn't. But they'd be slapping up those APBs and warrant posters, anyway. And the news bulletins, as well. After all, he was _so_ dangerous indeed. But he liked it.

_You'd better appreciate all this shit I'm doing just for you, woman...!_ With that thought, he resumed his focus on kicking up as much dirt between him and his pursuers.

**A/N: Why does it feel like so long since I posted the last chapter? Oh, well.**

**So. IDK if any of you were expecting this, but it happened. A jailbreak. I was debating over how to get the two of them back together and, after much deliberation and brainstorming of ideas, this is what I came up with. It just didn't seem right to keep going with the prison setting, especially after that last blowup. I wanted to show just how much Grimmjow had been affected by the loss of Orihime's contact, even if he himself still can't admit it fully. **

**How was it? This sequence, I mean. I tried to get the break out to seem believable, even as...well, as unbelievable as it was. Then again, this is Grimmjow we're dealing with here. If anyone could manage an escape, human or not, he could. But I still had to throw in a few obstacles here and there. Hope the prison setup didn't seem too weak, though? **

**TBH, I don't know if I gave him enough of a challenge in the escape. If necessary, I can always edit it...but I'd like to think it turned out relatively well. This is the first time I ever wrote anything of this nature, and I'm nervous as hell. As usual, I'm interested in hearing what you all think about the matter.**

**Next time: Well...you'll just have to wait and see. Happy Friday the 13th, before I forget. 'waves' Take care.  
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	19. You're Not Here

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**You're Not Here**

The morning sun did nothing to dispel the chill in the air, as one by one the denizens of suburbia awoke, shuffling their bodies and adapting the best they could to the weather. Seemed like winter was coming early this year. And here they'd though that summer was late. It was short, too.

Rising from her tangle of blankets in a groggy haze, Orihime let out a yawn, stretching her thin arms above her head as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stepped into her slippers, before heading to her closet and throwing on her light robe. What a night.

She hadn't been feeling well, for whatever reason yesterday, so she'd wound up taking the day off from work and staying at home, huddled under the covers. It was the first time she'd missed a day in years. Usually, she was on time and ready to begin her duties with a smile. Recently though, within the last two months, she'd begun to feel a strain descend upon her body, as if she were pushing herself beyond her limits. She couldn't explain where it came from, but she knew that she wanted it gone. Was it the beginning sign of a possible disease?

As she headed into the kitchen to began making a pot of coffee-today was her actual day off, so there was no rush-she felt a coldness clench around her heart. It wasn't illness, of that she could be sure. It was something else entirely, something that had been haunting her and her dreams, her very existence, ever since the ties had been severed what felt like lifetimes ago. She even had a face to blame it on-strong jaw, stern blue eyes, jagged mask fragment and a shock of sky-toned hair.

Grimmjow. Why couldn't she get him out of her mind?

Ever since that confrontation they'd had the last time she'd visited him, he'd been in her thoughts like a constant buzzing hum, a fly or a mosquito that was just out of reach for her to swat. Not that she found him annoying, mind you, it was merely that every time she remembered him, she remembered his words. And it was like being stabbed all over again.

She couldn't be there for him. As much as she'd wanted to prove that there was one person, out of everybody in the whole entire world, who knew what he'd done but didn't care, wasn't going to strip him of his humanity and name for it, she just couldn't. She couldn't go against his wishes, and when she'd heard him say exactly what her being there had done to him...it had torn her up inside. She'd like to have said that he could fight, and somehow make it through. That they still could've been together, as dismal as circumstances were, with that blasted sheet of tempered glass in between them.

But she couldn't. She just couldn't.

Now with the pot boiling on the burner and the coffee dribbling down, Orihime felt her fingers fumble with the front of her robe, tying it closed with a simple knot to keep it in place. She suddenly felt colder now, even as the sun shone in from the windows by the parlor.

She missed him, that much she wouldn't deny. It wasn't just the visits that had brought this out in her, either. Ever since their first encounter, way back when in high school-such an eternity ago!-he'd always managed to be on her mind, in some way or another. If she wasn't following him around campus like a curious kitten or puppy, she was dreaming about him and all he'd done for her while in captivity, and all he could've chosen to do instead. Nothing. He could have done absolutely nothing. He could have let her rot, watched her die.

Or, she would be in the middle of something, when something else would happen, out of nowhere, and it would just remind her of him, in general. Before, Grimmjow's frown had reminded her of Ichigo's stoic expression. Now, things were reversed. Ichigo reminded her of him. Her friend, who she had known for far longer, now reminded her of the man behind the mask. How funny life could be sometimes.

The coffee had finished brewing and pouring, and Orihime picked up the mug, careful to grab the handle and cup the bottom as she brought it to the other side of the counter. Heading for the fridge, she began pulling out the milk and sugar, to fill her cup for the day. She'd never been able to drink it straight black.

She wondered how he was doing in that cell of his, whether he actually missed their visits as she did. If he actually cared what she was doing now, or if he'd find some sort of amusement at the thought of her, unable to let him go. She wondered if he was still the semi-model citizen he'd been when she had gone in those few times, or if he'd began throwing up a fuss and ruckus. She doubted it-he'd said it before, and she'd say it again, if only to silence her wounded heart: he could live just fine without her. Apparently when reversed, she couldn't.

So then...what did that mean? Had she simply become attached to the man? Or was it something deeper, something that had been running through her veins ever since she was a young girl?

Had she, in some unexpected, twisted, tragic way...fallen in love with the monster? Her, the princess? Had Orihime ultimately fallen for Grimmjow? The thought was both a relief and a hard pill to swallow.

If she had, it meant that, to put it bluntly, her ideas of a 'happy ending' would never come true. For whatever reason, her heart had chosen against the norm, to instead entertain fantasies with this figure she'd never be able to reach. How on Earth was any sort of fairy tale romance possible between them? He was on death row! She was but a nurse! All she could do was visit him, on a monthly basis, at most...

And even then, how could she be certain that he cared even an iota of what she did for him? How could she be sure that he cared even an ounce for her? He had nothing to care for-no family, friends, connections. She'd wanted to be the one, just one, to give him that single ray of sunshine, if he'd wanted it, if he'd let her in, to show him that he wasn't some sort of hideous mass, something unloveable. He was still human, deep down. She'd seen his humanity in action, on more than one occasion. Maybe no one else had, but she had.

He'd let her in, too; it had taken some time, but eventually the doors had creaked open, and he'd let her in. Let her in to that dark, brutal, venomous, heart-poundingly acidic and violent place he called home. He'd never shielded her eyes, yet at the same time, in his own weird way, had protected her. Just like when he'd allowed her to help him that night, and just like when he'd saved her life. They'd been caught together in this game, this dance, two halves of the same coin: she, the angel forever perched in silence upon his shoulder, and he, the devil, screaming to the winds beside her ear. Both sides were never acted upon, only realized...and then ignored. Shoved aside. Buried.

Her heart ached at the admission, and the following realization only served to hammer the point home: she had, somehow, fallen in love with Grimmjow, her best friend's high school antagonist. Her captor. Her savior. Her new best friend. Her patient. Her monster. Her knight in tattered armor, half-dead and burned, with a sword in one hand and a severed head in the other, bones and bottles scattered about his feet. She could've had her pick of heroes, but in the end...she'd chosen the dragon. What a bizarre Princess was she.

Snapping back to reality, Orihime saw that she'd nearly spooned in half of the sugar bowl for her cup. With a hasty covering, she pushed it aside, and began frantically stirring the mug, hoping that the milk would balance out the eyebrow-arching sweetness that was sure to follow as she took the first sip.

How could she have been so dumb? So oblivious? When she looked at things in this new light, suddenly it all made sense. Why she hadn't wanted to tell anybody. Why she'd had to take so long just to visit him that first time. Why she had been so adamant about protecting him from Ichigo. Why it had hurt her so deeply when he'd rejected her. It all. Made. Sense. She was just too slow at picking up the pieces and fitting them together.

_I need a change of pace._ Trying to deal with this new information and the fact that she had no outlets to bury it in, such as the hospital, wasn't an easy task. So, Orihime picked up her cup, and made her way to the living room. Sitting down at the table in front of the TV, she grabbed the remote and turned on the box. The screen flashed to life, as a commercial for curry gave way to an early morning news program. She took a hesitant sip of her drink, and winced-even for her tastes, it was too sweet. Maybe some salt would help balance it out? Or rice? She had no idea.

The bulletins passed by in a flurry, and Orihime didn't pay them much mind, grey eyes barely flickering in response to the articles that took three minutes each to zoom through. Actors and actresses. New age skin care remedies. Eating healthier. Robbery. Grade percentages. Animal therapy. And...

"In other news, the hunt is still on for wanted death row inmate Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, 27, who escaped from his high-level penitentiary the night before last. After managing to gain distance from the authorities on foot, Jeagerjaquez apparently stole a car from a resident in the nearby prefecture, before taking off in the direction of Karakura. The car was found abandoned in a shopping complex parking lot earlier yesterday afternoon, with traces of blood in the drivers seat. Jeagerjaquez is believed to have been wounded by a sniper while making his daring escape, but is still considered very armed and dangerous. If anyone has any information relating to this case, please call the toll-free number..."

Orihime had been taking a long sip of her coffee, hoping that a few of those would make it disappear faster. But as soon as that article had come on, she'd nearly spat out her drink at the screen, choking on a mix of milk and coffee and sugar and air, from a gasp of shock that had slipped up her throat at the same time the liquid was struggling to slide down.

How? How was this possible? How had he gotten out? And why? Had his situation really been so desperate, that he'd felt the need to pull such a stunt? Why, why, why, why, _why_? Orihime wanted to scream. Didn't he realize just how much jeopardy he was putting himself in, by doing this? He could have just lived out his sentence without anyone batting an eye-heck, he'd been doing it for five years already! What made now, this time, so different?

Orihime's heart clenched tightly in her chest. Could it be...just maybe, possibly...

No, that wasn't it. That was just her ego trying to get in the way again. A nasty thing, that ego. She had to get it under control, just like her imagination. There was no way that someone like him would put himself in such danger...over a mere speck of a human like herself. There was just no way. He must have broken out to try and find his old gang again. That had to be it. There was no other reason why. After all, the power he'd held as a member of the Espada-she'd heard stories about it, and apparently, his stats were impressive. She didn't understand much about crime, but that was enough to make her skin crawl. It was all she needed to know.

_Oh, Grimmjow-san. Why? Now you're gonna have everyone coming after you..._she gulped quietly, trying and failing to hold back a shudder. Hadn't they said he was on his way back to Karakura Town?

_Even Ichigo._

**…...**

"'Huff...huff...sheesh, am I really that outta shape? Back in the day, shit like this...wouldn't have stopped me for nothing. That fuckin' loony bin made me soft..."

Leaning against a tree, panting and bloody, drenched in sweat, Grimmjow stood in the shade of the massive plant, looking upwards at the building that lay just a few yards away, across the street. Its grey pallor seemed darkened by the rising sun behind it, making it look cold and unwelcoming, even though he stood in suburbia, and this building housed one of the sunniest residents in the history of existence.

It had taken him about a day, and that didn't include having to ditch that damn set of wheels in the lot, but he'd finally made it back into Karakura, without attracting any attention from either side, be it the authorities or his old crew. Hell, he hadn't even bumped into any new generation thugs. Seemed like everyone worked under Aizen now. Was that a good or bad sign that he had made even _more_ progress after Grimmjow had been locked away? The man couldn't tell.

The wound in his lower back had been relegated to nothing more than a mild sting, as he began crossing the street. The neighborhood was quiet, seeing as it was a Sunday-even though people still woke up early, they didn't necessarily have to go rushing off to work or shopping, school and the like. It was over all too quickly-he had made it into the parking lot, then up to the stone stairs, creeping upwards, two at a time in silence.

He remembered this place well, even though he'd only been there once before. It was shortly before he'd dropped out of school, and a little while after the whole kidnapping incident-which no one, save for his group, himself and the victim in question-seemed to know the truth about. Had she really hidden all of it from those she was supposed to be so close to? Perhaps the incident had weighed more on her in a way he as yet couldn't explain. It was entirely possible, by this point.

Anyway. Back to the story. He hadn't been able to help himself, and one day, he'd followed her home. Had followed her all the way back to this modest, if slightly dingy apartment complex, where she lived all alone. That's what he'd heard, anyway. No family to call her own. The fact had resonated with him, if only for a moment. It was cropping up in his mind again.

He'd made his way up those stone stairs, just like this. Slowly, like a shadow. Up to the third floor, and down the line of doors in the hallway, until he'd reached the one directly in the middle. He'd then stood there, for a good few minutes, staring at the closed door and knob. Wondering what would happen if he'd reached out and turned it. If he'd knocked on the barrier, would she come up, unlock the door? What would he say? What would she do? Would they merely stare at each other, until they'd rotted away into nothing but dusty skeletons? Would she slam the door in his face, and tell him to never return?

Or would she step aside, and let him in?

Of course, he'd turned around and left, muttering to himself about what a stupid idea it had been, to come out there in the first place, and how he had better things to do than stalk little girls. But that was then, years ago, an eternity ago, and this was now. Now, they were both adults. He was a fugitive on the run. He was dazed, broken, bitter, confused, hungry, tired, just looking for a place to call home.

And she represented everything he needed. In this moment, he needed her.

Without hesitation, his hand reached out, fist clenched to pound at the door.

**…...**

Orihime had been staring into her coffee mug, heart still racing at that news cast which had to have played across her screen a good fifteen, thirty minutes ago. She hadn't been able to drink her coffee again from then, and it wasn't just because of flavor. A lump had formed in her throat, and as the liquid had cooled, she could only wonder to herself how she was going to go through the day, knowing the one she loved, for whatever unfathomable reason, was now loose and alone on the streets.

That was when she'd heard the knocking.

At first, she thought her ears were playing tricks on her. There was nobody in the world who'd be knocking on her door at this hour. But then, it came again. And again.

She stood up. Should she answer it? What could she say? What should she say? "Good morning"? "How are you"? Should she just ignore it? What if it was one of her friends? What if it was Ichigo, come to warn her about Grimmjow's escape? Her heart nearly sprung forth from her ribcage at that. That was the last thing she needed, especially on this morning.

Then, the knocking turned into pounding. And then, the pounding was replaced by a lower, duller thump. A kick. Someone was pounding and kicking at her door. Whatever they had to say, it sure must've been important.

With halting steps, Orihime made her way to the door. Whoever lay on the other side, she couldn't very well ignore them, leaving them out there alone. What if it was an emergency? What if it was a neighbor? Or worse...what if the noise awoke one of her neighbors? They could be quite grouchy at times, and at such an early hour, too...she had to answer. Mind finally made up, that no matter the outcome she'd open that door, Orihime undid the lock, and turned the knob, pulling back.

"Yo. Took ya long enough. Miss me, Princess?" With his hair disheveled, clothes torn and bloodied, skin bruised and glistening, eyes sparkling with the morning light and lips cocked up into a weary but satisfied grin, baring his noticeably sharp teeth, Grimmjow stood there before her, leaning against the doorframe for all the world like a common visitor.

The mug fell from Orihime's hand, shattering on the ground between them. The cooled brew splashed over her slippers and his feet, and he chuckled.

"That's one helluva 'hello'."

**A/N: Ta-da! Reunited at long last, and it feels _so_ good.**

**Hope you're all still enjoying this lil' story of mine. We're nearly at the twenty chapter mark, a good ways away from where we first started. A LOT has happened since then, both good and bad. And we're still not done w/this twisted tale.  
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**Hope I got Orihime and Grimmjow's characters down here, as usual. I'm also hoping that the response to the breakout is believable, as well-I admit, the penning out of the news report and the information in-between gave me a bit of trouble. If I'm lucky though, that stress won't come through in the writing...? I dunno.**

**Not a whole lot to say here. Orihime has finally admitted her feelings for Grimmjow, but next time is when the real fireworks start kicking off. Together at last, w/nothing to hold either of them back. Oh, the possibilities! See you soon!  
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	20. Heart Shaped Box

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Heart-Shaped Box**

She could clean up the stains of coffee, even as they seeped into the wooden floor and cement outside her front door.

She could clean up the broken pieces of her cup, scooping them up in the front of her nightgown and whisking them off to the trash can in the kitchen.

She could even clean up her clothes, hastily dropping her shoes into the wash and changing into some blue slacks and a grey shirt with a cream sweater thrown over. But what she couldn't change was her expression, and her feelings. The look that had rested upon her face, as she'd gazed up to meet gleaming blue eyes and canines. The emotions there were impossible to ignore, as was the cause of them, as he now sat, looking around ever so calmly in her living room.

_You came back for me._

No, no, no! It couldn't be! This was all wrong-this shouldn't have been happening! She wasn't supposed to be housing a wanted criminal in her home! Yet here she was, sitting down beside him on the couch, hands in lap and eyes doing all they could not to look at his face, even though he was turned towards her. "What, don't I even get at least some sort of 'hello'? Real nice way you treat your company, Princess."

Orihime swallowed hard then. He did have a point-she couldn't very well be rude, after he'd taken all this risk and rush just to come out here and-

Hold it. Wait a minute. That couldn't be right, what she had just thought. She did not honestly believe that he, of all people, Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, would bust out of jail and make the long journey back to Karakura Town just for her sake, did she? There was no way on Earth that could be right! "M-my apologies, Grimmjow-san. It's just that-"

He leaned back into the cushions, folding his arms behind his head, wincing and cutting her off. "Lighten up. I was only kidding. Like you'd really be all over me, anyway." He cocked an eyebrow at her as his eyes darted in her direction. Now, that smug smirk was beginning to play upon his lips once again, and Orihime waited for the expected tell-off. "You're dying to know what possessed me t'break outta jail and come see you, of all people, 'stead of my old gang or something like that. Am I right, give or take a few words?"

At hearing this, Orihime felt her face flush, and he laughed. "So I was. You're becoming too easy for me to read. Gimme a challenge, huh?" _Like when you used to visit me in my old ransack of a home, or when you left me behind, or way back when, the night that-_

"You're injured." It wasn't a question. It was an obvious statement. Orihime was desperate to focus on something, anything other than the reason why he was in her home, of all places, and his wounds served as the perfect deterrent. He snorted. "Yeah, I am. What of it?" He leaned forwards, trying to look down the side of his own back. It wasn't really working. "That one's probably the worst of the lot-got shot while climbing that stupid-ass fence. Fuckers. I don't think it's fatal, though. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. And it's been what, two days already?"

"Two days?" Orihime ducked down, nursing mode activated as she looked over the bullet hole thoroughly. It was bloody and inflamed, and starting to look a bit yellow around the edges as well-infection was beginning to set in. How could this man not be yelling his head off from the pain? "Grimmjow-san, that bullet's gotta come out. Your wounds need m-medical attention."

"And? You think I'm really gonna go to a hospital? Get to it, woman. I like your work better."

As hard as her heart thumped in her chest, Orihime knew that taking him to a hospital was out of the question. He was on the run, and if she came in with him there was to be much inquiry as to exactly how they had met, and why he wasn't ripping her head off or holding her hostage. So, with a soft sigh of resignation, Orihime stood up to go and get her supplies. _At least this time I have better medicine and tweezers..._

"Ouch! Jeez, still hurts just like last time. There isn't a better way of doing this?"

"Well, doctors may be able to administer painkillers or anesthesia, but since you can't really walk through the doors of the ER..."

"Feh. Whatever. Just hurry it up, will you? I didn't only come out here to play patient." Again, Orihime's heart jumped, and she nearly pulled too sharply at the thread she was trying to yank through. The last thing she needed was for it to break on her. Tying it off and snipping the end, she looked at Grimmjow curiously now, inquiries beginning to rise up in her throat. "So then, Grimmjow-san...why did you come out here? If not for your gang, then..."

He let out a huff. "You know, I ain't got any fucking idea, myself." She flinched as she pressed the needle point against the inflamed flesh. "Maybe I just wanted a change of pace, some fresh air. Maybe I wanted to see how this stupid rat-trap looked since the last time I was here." Orihime knew he was playing with her, giving her such simple and childish answers and she, in response, pushed the needle through painfully quick. He let out a hiss. "Fucking hell, what was was that for?"

"You're not being truthful, Grimmjow-san. Why are you really here?" Drawing the string upwards, she tied it off once again, being careful not to scrape her fingers with the needlepoint. Cutting off the ends once more, she looked at the wound, mentally counting out how many more stitches were required on this one. Probably two or three, then she could get to work cleaning the rest of them.

He groaned. "What, you were really serious about liking my honesty?" He knew he was going to have to tell her eventually. He just didn't realize it would be this soon. And, to put it simply, he didn't have any inkling as to what had really brought him to her doorstep in the first place. Had he just really, _really_ missed her?

_But then, isn't that what them saps call..._

Orihime nodded, preparing to repeat the sewing process yet again. "Yes, I was. A-and you don't just surprise a girl-woman-by showing up at her house, especially when you're under lock and key!" She looked at him soulfully. "How did you manage to escape from there anyway, Grimmjow-san?" Her voice had softened.

Grimmjow sighed. "It was both tough, and easier than I thought it'd be. Those pricks don't have the right to call themselves guards. They couldn't even shoot me in the head properly, much less keep me from going ballistic on their asses." Orihime winced, and he gave her an annoyed glare. "Oi, you were the one who wanted details. Don't ask for them and then try to shy away. If you ain't holding back, then why the fuck would I?" It wasn't so much the details, as the thought of a dead Grimmjow lying on the ground that had made her cringe, inside and out. She wanted to volunteer this information, but something told her to wait, that now wasn't the right time. Not yet.

"After I managed to get out though, it was smooth sailing. Stole a car from some old man who was on his way to the convenience store, I think. But he reported it pretty quick, and the bulletins were already out for me, so I had to ditch it after flooring the gas, and hoof it through the back alleys the best I could. And hey, I made it here, so I guess I won after all."

By this point, Orihime had finished the stitching process, so now she sat there, needle and scissors on lap as she stared down at his body, laid bare before her. He'd taken off his prison top, just to make it easier for her, no matter if it was short. It was bloodstained and torn, and the fabric would just get in the way if she needed to get a grip on anything while taking care of the job. She couldn't help but marvel over his skin.

It was like a patchwork quilt of scars, and that single tattoo. Years and years of fighting, battering, abuse, torment-the toils of living the life of a lowlife. Well, okay, she wouldn't call him that, though he had done some truly horrendous things. Other people would, though. Just not her. 'Criminal' was simpler and suited them both better. At least, for her it did. She wasn't about to ask him which term he preferred best. That was just too weird.

She could make out the scar on his lower abdomen, the one in the front. It showed up on his back too, so whatever he'd been stabbed with had gone clean through. She shuddered-how was a bullet any worse than that?

_Well, maybe he got shot before it happened, whatever it is. Which is why he isn't reacting as badly this time around to the impromptu surgery?_ Orihime felt that reasoning was probably the most accurate. But she wasn't about to ask him. Again, it wasn't her place. For all she knew, he'd just swung by here because he knew that she would patch him up without saying a word, and if so, then-

"Eh? What you staring at, woman?" She let out a soft squeak, caught red-handed-or eyed-gawking over his exposed flesh. Quickly gathering her materials, she stood up and made her way towards the bedroom, hoping that the flush in her cheeks hadn't been noticed, but knowing ultimately that it had. She just had to hope that he didn't go too harshly when poking fun at her for it afterwards.

"Hmm..." Grimmjow knew that she'd been staring at something on him, but what? Her finished handiwork? Again, he tried to check it out for himself, but couldn't reach around that far. He growled softly. He didn't think that was it, anyway. The look on her face was one of a far more...contemplative, saddened nature. What was she sad about? Seeing him beat up? Bah, this was normal for him! He wasn't some sort of china doll she had to worry about getting broken! He wasn't anything like her!

Her or her friends. So then, what was this feeling, as yet unnamed, rising up from his stomach to his chest, wrapping itself around his cold, hardened heart?

By now, Orihime had returned to the living room, and was now carrying Grimmjow's top in her hands, picked up from the table in front of the TV. "Umm...here?" He looked up. "That is, if you want it...? I mean, I understand that it is rather dirty, and if you'd like, I could wash it for you, so-"

He snatched it from her hands, allowing it to drape over his lap. "Like I'd give a shit 'bout that. Just sit down. This place of yours ain't very cheerful to be left alone in." He'd taken notice of a small shrine in the corner, dedicated to who he couldn't make out. He didn't really care, though. Memorials weren't his thing. He'd caused too many of them to be bothered with their existence any longer.

And when he died, he would just have to be the one who would wind up without one, wouldn't he? It was how it was meant to be. That's all.

"Okay..." Carefully seating herself beside him on the couch with her hands folded in her lap, Orihime did her best to avoid any thought about chewing her lips or anything similar as she and Grimmjow sat together, in a thick silence. Orihime pondered, if she had a butter knife, could she cut a piece of it off, and spread it on her bread? What would silence taste like, anyway?

Grimmjow had said that her house was unfriendly and not great for company, but the truth was, he just didn't want to be here alone. He couldn't explain it, but now, being here around her, with nobody else to hold him back or stop him...he didn't want her to leave. Ever. He didn't want to be separated from this strange girl, whose very absence had compelled him to break out of the high-security prison he'd been staying in for the last five years in peaceful silence. He wondered, if she'd never started visiting, would he still have come after her, anyway? He couldn't be sure. If that was the case, was he glad now that she'd shown up when she did?

So many questions. When was he ever going to get a solid answer, instead? Sighing, he raked his hand through his spiky blue locks, feeling the tensions of the girl beside him. She too, was stuck as what to say next. He figured he'd do her a favor, and pick up where she'd last left off. The watching, the staring.

"It was a fight." His words made her jump, as she turned to look at him. "'Course, don't know if I'm really expecting you t'be surprised by that. I mean, when wasn't I fighting, right? It was after I turned twenty-one. Left a bar one night with a couple of rookies, tryin' t'train to rise up into the Espada elite ranks. Amazingly enough, I wasn't drunk. Well anyways, we got jumped, by some punks from another prefecture, looking for a fight. Problem was, the bar was right across the street from a construction site. And one of those cocksuckers grabbed a broken pipe-looks like someone had cut it the wrong way, or just cut it on accident, and well...you get the idea."

He snorted. "Stupid twerps were so wasted, they couldn't even throw a punch. They got their asses handed to them that night. You don't fuck around in the Espada. And I ain't nobody's babysitter.

"It healed up, after a good look-over by Szayel and his lot, and some 'personal funding' by Aizen. Heh. At the time I felt so fucking smug and superior, like I was on top of the world. And look where that got me. Locked up in a stinking cesspool of shit and piss and pathetic bastards who can't even wipe their own asses without being scrutinized for conspiracies and plotting by paranoid guards who don't even know how to properly assemble and focus their attentions. Heh. You get what you give, right? I got shit, so I gave it back. And in the end-"

That was when he stopped, out of utter shock. A pair of thin, warm arms had wrapped around his ribs, clasping together at his side. That crazy girl was holding onto him like she was lost at sea, and he was the only rock, the only thing in general keeping her afloat. _What the hell?_ "Woman, what are you trying to-"

"Nobody deserves to be hurt." These words hit him like a punch out of left field. He hadn't been expecting that one, at all. The hugging was one surprise, but coupled with her words? Insanity. Pure, utter, unadulterated insanity. He wasn't having any of it.

So then...why, why wasn't he pushing her away, or telling her off?

Orihime was just as stunned by her own actions, but the amazement was overthrown by the sheer ache she felt in her heart at hearing his words. She was forcing the tears to stay inside, as she held onto Grimmjow for dear life. She could feel the rough dampness of his skin-he must've been on the move non-stop, hence why the sweat on his skin hadn't cooled completely. The scars under her arms told one story after another, and it was all made up of tragedies.

He smelled like masculinity and nature. She couldn't quite pin the first one-it wasn't necessarily a scent of hard work or the male gender. It was more like...just being him. It was a scent that was unique to him. Musky, bleeding, strong, hidden. It fit both sides of him to a T.

Wait...both sides?

That's right. There were two sides to this man she knew as Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez. The first was ruthless and bloodthirsty, always on the hunt and hungering for that next fresh kill or dead body. But the other side...the other side was the one that with her now, in her parlor, in her house. Her personal haven, away from the world. This was the one that listened to her when she spoke, regarded her as a human being, not just some static doll that would break at the first harsh criticism. This was the one that was letting her be so close to him, that was allowing her to see this side of him that didn't exist, wasn't supposed to.

And he'd been doing it for a decade.

After a few more moments of silence, Orihime continued on. "N-no matter what you may have done...no one deserves their suffering. I don't think that you woke up o-one day...and decided 'I'm gonna kill people', just like I don't think you chose...to be hurt. And who you are now...still doesn't deserve it, either. You're not a hero. But you're not the devil, either." Such innocence. Such naivete. Such protection. Such care. It should have made him sick.

But instead, Grimmjow found himself reaching out, to place a hand upon hers, at a loss for words. How could there exist someone who was so tender and compassionate towards a being as filthy as he? She shouldn't have even been touching him! He would contaminate her! But she continued holding him tightly, as if afraid he would disappear into the wind.

Now, he was holding her too, in his own way, but for the same reasons. Just _what_ was going on here?

That night, he slept on her couch. As much as he hated the distance, it was only proper. She hadn't offered up her room to him, and as much as he could barge in and just make himself at home, or take what was his, this time around he didn't. He kept his tongue in check, and found himself staring up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head.

It was so strange, to feel open space and see moonlight cast over various furniture, where there had once been cold stone and heavy bars. But it wasn't a change he disliked, either. It was just too much to believe at once. He fell into a fitful sleep, eventually curled up upon the blankets Orihime had given him, holding tight to the pillow at an angle under his head. The next morning would either bring more confusion, or solace, and he had to be ready to face them both.

In her own room, Orihime too lay awake under her sheets and comforter. How had things gone so crazy, spiraled so far out of her control? Was she just not paying enough attention? Was she simply blind to her surroundings? Or had she let things turn out this way, knowing somewhere inside of herself that she'd wanted to see the turnout, watch the truth underneath be revealed through such extreme circumstances?

Okay, perhaps she hadn't been counting on the events being this severe. But she knew enough to realize that placing bets on such an unsteady game like love, or a dark horse like Grimmjow, was beyond risky-it was liable to lead to death. How far was she willing to go, just for this one man? Look how far she'd come already: housing and healing a wanted criminal in her home!

Thus, the two fell asleep, visions haunted by unsteady images and clipped voices. Words they couldn't make out, and pictures that seemed human from afar, but grotesque once more closely examined. As the hours ticked by, so did their resolve dissipate, until ultimately, they gave up and allowed their subconsciouses free reign over their minds. What showed up then was impossible to remember, but important to recall. Warmth, embrace, safety, and the absence of the world. What an existence. What a concept.

Grimmjow still hadn't answered her main question, though.

**A/N: And so ends another chapter.**

**Not a whole lot to say here-just some more interaction between Grimmjow and Orihime. Now that the prison is out of the picture [for the time being], anything can happen. It's just a matter of what, and when.  
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**Hopefully, the storyline and characterizations are still up to par. It's the big two-oh [20], and we've still got a few more hurdles to overcome. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated, as always. If I'm doing well, or not so well, I'd like to know. As I've probably mentioned before, this story contained a lot of firsts for me, and was an experience to remember.  
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**That's all I've got to say here. I'm still calming down from my B-Day yesterday ["Twenty-two, twenty-two, is when you said you would improve...haven't they told you, my love, you're six years past due?" Kudos and a shout-out to anyone who gets the reference XD], so...yeah. ;p**

**Enjoy, everybody.  
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	21. Razorblade Sky

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Razorblade Sky**

Morning was unusually quiet in the apartment, with Orihime waking up and heading off to the bathroom to take care of her regular routine. It was only when she was halfway through changing her clothes that she remembered: she had an unexpected guest waiting for her outside. Hastily pulling down her cardigan, she scurried out into the living room, to find Grimmjow seated comfortably on her couch, still out cold. For all his posturing, the trek from the prison must have really taken a lot out of him, which it should have. In the end, he was only human, after all.

Doing her best to keep the noise to a minimum, Orihime started things off by once again, calling in to work, and checking out sick. She didn't know how long Grimmjow planned to stick around, but for the time being, she couldn't very well leave him all alone. She could afford a day or two away from the prying eyes of the system she was employed to. It would just mean a few extra questions when she returned, as to the state of her health.

But not too long. Otherwise, some _other_ faces might start snooping around too, thanks to a bit of timing and newly sparked inquiry...it was only a matter of when before Ichigo started calling, seeing as Grimmjow being on the lam figured into his jurisdiction.

They had to figure out what was going to happen to him, anyway. The authorities were hot on his trail, and if they caught him here it would mean big trouble for both of them. But Orihime couldn't automatically say that she was waiting for Grimmjow to pack up and leave. For once, they were together, in a completely unchecked setting. Here, she was free to talk to him as she pleased, and he was free to respond as he saw fit.

And if that meant silencing her, well then...

Making her way to the kitchen, Orihime tried to figure out the next course of action: breakfast. Obviously, plans couldn't be concocted with an empty stomach. And as soon as inspiration hit her, she was off like a rocket.

"...uhh...the fuck? What the hell...is that smell? And...that sound..."

Sitting up and yawning, Grimmjow found himself stretching out of habit, only to wince sharply at the tug from his lower back. He had even slept on his left side to avoid agitating it, but first thing in the morning, he set off the freshly sewn wound in his skin. Cursing under his breath, he rubbed his eyes, and instantly took note of the fact that he was in what seemed to be a house. No, wait-it was an apartment.

That's right. Yesterday, he had finally made it to that woman's place. Inoue Orihime. She had fixed him up, and offered him shelter. It wasn't like he wouldn't have found a way to get her to agree if she'd tried to throw him out, though it really wasn't in her nature to do such a thing, he knew.

But back to that smell. Was something burning? Oh dear God, the room hadn't caught on fire while he was asleep, had it? Where was Orihime?! "Woman! The hell's goin' on? You still in one piece?!" A bit of smoke was pouring out from the room directly ahead of him, but other than that, there didn't seem to be anything wrong. And that was when a familiar amber head poked out from around the corner of the wall.

"Oh, good morning, Grimmjow-san! Sorry if I woke you." Her cheerful expression became sheepish then. "I was going to make us a good breakfast, but halfway through the leek pancakes, I kinda...got distracted, and they started to burn. You can have the first batch-I can wait, and whip up another set for myself. Here, I'll bring everything out for you!"

"Uhh..." Grimmjow now found himself seated at the small, low table, with a plate of oddly colored pancakes on a plate before him, along with a small container of honey, a knife, a tiny tray of butter, a cup of hot green tea, and a mixed bowl of kamaboko, chopped cucumbers and egg strips on rice. He took a nibble of one of the cakes, and instantly made a face. Just what was in this thing, anyway? It certainly didn't taste like any pancake he could ever remember eating. It wasn't inedible, just...so weird. He tried to figure out the flavor, and wound up returning to his youth once again. Didn't they used to say that this girl had a reputation for being a good cook, but with some bizarre recipes? "Oi, woman. Just what are ya trying t'shovel down my throat here?"

From the kitchen, he heard her voice ring out. "It's leek pancakes! Try them-they're really good! Especially with the honey! But just in case you don't like sweets, I added the butter!" Well, that explained it. This chick was loony. Did she eat like this every day? She wasn't stingy with the portions at least, but...what a variety! He shook his head.

Better than no food at all, or worse-prison grub. With that, he proceeded to chow down.

After taking a few more solid bites, he decided that the female might be onto something with these 'leek pancakes' of hers. He preferred to eat them bland, without dipping them in the honey-too sweet indeed-or adding the butter, which made them too oily for his liking. The flavor was unusual, but it grew on you. And they were definitely filling. Finishing his plate, he turned his attention to the mixed bowl and tea, which had cooled by this point.

"Oh, you're all done already...gee, you sure were hungry." He looked up, to see Orihime standing over him with a plate and bowl in her hands. Setting them down on the tabletop, she proceeded to reach for his cleaned utensils and dishes. "I'll go and wash these-"

"Eat." It wasn't a request, it was a command. "You've been going all over the damn place today, so fast I can't keep up. Take a break and eat your food, jeez. This shit ain't going anywhere." Nodding in silence, an admonished Orihime sat down beside him, and proceeded to start on her meal. With chin now in hand and elbow on table, Grimmjow watched her eat. And boy, could she. He pondered this question in his head. She was so petite and curvy-where did it all go? Her boobs? Her rear? Her brain?

He mulled over this.

As naïve as she was, it didn't automatically make her stupid. Hell, she was far stronger than he'd first given her credit for, crying notwithstanding. She could handle blood. And she could take a good few punches, too. Not that he ever wanted to see her wind up in that state again, mind you. When he'd gotten back to the complex, those two skanks had taken off, somehow. He was somewhat relieved-he still had a helluva lot of venom aimed at those two, and had made a vow to himself that night if he ever saw them again, he'd make sure they knew they were on his shitlist. Anyone who'd take cheap shots at someone who couldn't fight back wasn't worthy of life, as far as he was concerned. Amazingly enough, he'd never seen them again.

As he continued to watch her eat with that quiet gusto, a thought crossed his mind, and he spoke it before he could properly chastise himself mentally for thinking of something so insipid. Then again, it was related to her, and it got rid of this silence that had built up between them, so...

"Why didn't you become a cook? With all them ideas floating 'round your head, ya could've become some kinda culinary whiz kid. You like food enough, right? It would've fit." His question startled Orihime, and she nearly choked on the wad of rice and butter-spreaded leek pancake in her mouth. He was asking about her..._he_ was _asking_ about _her_! She swallowed hard, and took a gulp of tea to make sure all the pieces had gone down properly-which still hurt, seeing as her tea wasn't quite cooled yet. But no matter.

"W-why did I become a nurse, you mean?" He nodded, and she sighed, a little wistful smile on her lips as she looked out the window by the kitchen.

"When I was little, I thought I could do anything, be anything, be somebody. Anybody. I could be whoever I wanted, just as long as I wasn't me. Nobody seemed to like who I was very much, aside from my brother, and he's, well..." She trailed off. Brother was a sore spot. He needed to remember that for later, and figure out why. "It wasn't until I got older, that I realized I could be anything I wanted, while still being myself. And I thought real long and hard about it: who was I? Who did I want to be? What was I good at? What did I want to become better at?

"Well, in the end, I decided...I liked helping people. I liked taking care of them. When I was growing up, someone was always having to look out for me." Now she was looking at Grimmjow, those grey eyes of her so soft and gentle. It was like he was being drawn in, and he wasn't fighting against it. "As nice as it is to have friends you can rely on, in the end...you have to be able to stick up for yourself. And I chose to be the protector, instead of the protected. I went for my strengths, and entered the medical field. That way, I could help out without getting in over my head, and not drag anyone down." Now the smile on her face was so warm, and Grimmjow could feel it-an unfamiliar sensation in his chest. His heart was beating a bit faster. Why?

"So...you wanted to help others? Is that it?" Orihime blushed a little, but said "Yes," in that delicate tone as she turned her attention back to her unfinished meal. Grimmjow still didn't get it.

"But you...you were treated like shit growing up. Weren't you? It's why those bitc-girls you hung out with all the time were so damn protective of you, right?" He wasn't stupid; he could pick out a potential victim with the greatest of ease. And Orihime wasn't just a prospect, she'd had a fucking target on her back. She walked with the air of one who'd seen the ugly side of life. "You're not being fully honest here. Who kicked you down when you were growing up? What did you lose?"

Orihime was taken aback. She hadn't met Grimmjow until she'd entered high school. How could he possibly know anything about her brother, or her brushes with bullying? Was he just really good at reading people? She wasn't trying to hide anything here, but she really didn't feel like any of this was important for him to know. Apparently, he thought differently.

"I-my life was no harder than anyone else's. Sure, I had scrapes, but who doesn't? I just thought, that by taking those scrapes, and learning from them, to b-become a better person-" But Grimmjow cut her off.

"Bullshit. I don't wanna hear the saint talk. I wanna know who shoved your face in the dirt, and what got ripped outta you when you were at your lowest. I wanna see your humanity." Her humanity? What could he possibly mean by that? He already knew she was human, so...

"Your humanity. I don't wanna hear about the happy endings no more. I wanna know how you got hurt. I wanna know when you thought things would never change. And I wanna know when there was a single bitter thought in that pretty lil' head of yours." Now, she couldn't even react at being called such a thing, and he couldn't be bothered to retract the statement. "Come on. Everybody's got a story, before they put the pieces together and sailed off into the sunset. What's yours?"

Orihime understood now. He was asking her to bare her entire soul, her past to him. He wanted to know what she'd thought at those times, like when she found out that she and Sora were basically orphans, or when the bullies had cornered her in the bathroom and cut off her hair, or when she'd lost her brother to the accident, or when...

"M-my family was...broken, from the very beginning. My parents had issues, and were forced together out of family honor being d-dragged through the mud. My mother slept around, and my father drank heavily. By the time I was born, my older brother was already planning our escape." Orihime had to let out a strangled chuckle at this admission, something that she hadn't addressed ever, not verbally or even inside herself. "I can't even be sure...that my 'parents' were really my parents at all. I didn't even look like my brother."

This starter layer of darkness and suffering was what Grimmjow had been trying to get at. She had a fucked up history, like him. His parents had been at the top of the shit pile, too. The only difference was that he hadn't had any siblings to save the day.

"When I was three, my brother, Sora...he took me away from that horrible house. I just keep calling it as such, even though I can barely remember living there. Sora took care of me so well, that they never got a chance...to lay a hand on me. I can only recall yelling in the background, and crashing, every so often. But we did leave, and made our way to a small apartment. He worked to pay the bills, with some support from a couple of sympathetic family members on the side. That way, I could go to school properly, and we could stay alive."

So, she'd been exposed to this traumatic scenery, but hadn't had to deal with any of it. That made some sense to Grimmjow, as to how she could live so carefree and willy-nilly. She hadn't been on the receiving end of familial abuse. He bit his tongue.

Orihime took Grimmjow's silence as an indicator that she should continue on with her story. In a way, it was almost cathartic, to spill everything to an outside source-or at least, a source that hadn't been there so close, if only for as long, though.

"As a child, I...was constantly picked on. The other kids...well, they didn't like the way I looked. They didn't like my hair, or my eyes. They thought I was some kind of 'weirdo', or an alien. They always excluded me, or hurt me however they could." She was smiling as she said this. How could anyone be happy at telling such tales? "Sora told me to just keep being nice to them, and that eventually, they'd see what a good person I was underneath...so months turned to years, and I got older, and still...they continued to hate me. There was no other reason, aside from the fact that I existed. And the older I got, the worse the damage became. The more excuses I had to make up for Sora."

By this point, Orihime was fiddling frantically with the ends of her hair, and Grimmjow had to infer that something had to have happened involving those long locks of hers. The way that her hair stood out in the crowd-he could imagine that it would be one of the first things an attacker would go for. Hell, those two idiots in the shed had already ripped out handfuls of them before he'd gotten there to put a stop to it!

"Then, when I was twelve...everything changed." Grimmjow perked up. Was this where everything became sunshine and roses?

"Sora died. We had a fight the night before, and I-I was still...still pouting as he left for work that day. And that was when...I h-heard the screeching tires outside the door...

"I carried him, as best I c-could, all the way to the local clinic. The Kurosaki clinic. Ichigo...Kurosaki-kun was there, and so was his father, and s-sisters...they took him in, but the damage was so severe...and the hospital was packed...he died in their clinic, as I sat outside of the room." She was chewing at her bottom lip now, and the chewing was starting to drive Grimmjow nuts. The least she could do was be strong while telling this shit! He was amazed that the girl hadn't wound up in a mental institution, what with all she'd been through.

_So that's how she knows Kurosaki...that prick. Didn't even pay two specks of attention to her, but freaks out when she decides to take a stand in his name, or when she disappears right from under his nose. I wonder if he still thinks about that day like she does?_ At least now he knew who the shrine was for against the wall.

"After that...I was on my own. The bullying got worse, and I had no one to turn to. I had l-lost my best friend, and t-the few family members who helped out were still...really distant...I would come home with a bloodied face, arms, legs, clothing...high school didn't change any of it. Sometimes, I thought I'd be better off dead, and would lock myself in the bathroom back at the apartment...with a razor on the sink. N-nothing changed...I was still teetering between life and death until...until I met Tatsuki." She was still smiling that goddamned smile. She'd gotten really good at holding back her tears, that was certain. But where was her rage, her emotion? Where was her musing over why any of this had to happen to her in the first place?

"After meeting her, the bullying stopped. She prevented anyone from ever laying a hand on me again, and even helped me to make more friends. They sheltered me, cocooned me...helped me to see the good and the beauty in life. To realize that the suffering...was a part of everything, a part of growing up. Everyone had their own issues to deal with. I had just gotten lucky, meeting them...and not going through with what I'd been thinking of..." She shivered.

"Is that really what you tell yourself? What you really believe?" Grimmjow's words snapped Orihime out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see that he now bore a narrow-eyed scowl upon his face. She felt her heartbeat speed up dramatically, but found herself nodding anyway. He scoffed.

"Then you're a fucking fool, and a liar to boot." The words were like a slap to the face. She leaned back slightly, as if she'd been hit. "W-what?"

"You heard me. You really think that what you went through was normal? Bullshit. And that by finding those friends, it all just magically goes away, and you can pretend that nothing ever happened in the first place? That you get to pick and choose which memories matter? It doesn't work like that, Princess. Yeah, you can move on, but you can't automatically deny their existence. They still shape you, whether or not you're consciously aware of it."

Now Orihime was starting to come out of her shocked stupor, and a hint of fire was beginning to flicker in her grey eyes. "I'm not 'denying' anything, Grimmjow-san. The choices I made were-"

"-to try and cover up for all the knocks you took when you were young. Am I right?" Now his arms were folded over his chest, and his bangs were falling into his eyes sharply. "Inoue Orihime, everyone's Princess, everybody's star. The one we all have to love and protect. She'd never hurt a fly!" It was so mocking that Orihime felt herself flinching in disgust at the amount of venom held behind those words.

"When you were at the prison, you were going around everybody else. You were going behind their backs. You knew there was something wrong with you, for wanting to see me, yet you did it anyway. Why? Because you could feel it. That kindred force, tugging at you inside. You wanted to see the other side of the coin: what happens when wounds don't get bandaged, and are allowed to rot and fester. That's me. Even with all we'd been through together, you knew nothing would change by you seeing me where I was. But you did it anyway. _You did it anyway_."

He sounded triumphant, superior. As if he had her all figured out. And maybe that's what he wanted to believe, that if he could somehow solve the riddle of this puzzling girl, he wouldn't have to continue making excuses for himself, why he reacted the way he did when he heard her words. Why he felt the way he did when she was so close. Why he couldn't get her off of his mind. Why he felt like killing something upon hearing her past.

"You're wrong, Grimmjow-san. That wasn't it at all." Now he was the one looking at her, bemusement etched into his features. "Oh, really? And why's that?"

"Because...when I went to see you...yes, you were right in that I was going behind everyone else's backs. That I was hiding it from them. B-but it wasn't-it wasn't because I thought truly, that there was something wrong with me." Her cheeks were on fire, and her eyes were brimming with tears, but she continued on. "You want my honesty? Yes, I never really forgot...anything that happened to me. But what...what could I possibly accomplish by lashing out? Would it make me feel better? Maybe, for a little while. But that feeling would go away, and I'd have to either live with the guilt, or do it again and try to hide from it. Did you ever think to yourself...before you started retaliating, that maybe, things would change, and you wouldn't h-have to-to do such things, just to make them understand?"

Grimmjow slammed his hand on the table, making her unfinished dishes shake from the force. "No. Don't you _dare_ try and turn this around on me! I never once gave a shit what they wanted! All I knew was that I was gonna show 'em all, show all of 'em that they messed with the wrong fucking kid!" Now he was yelling, and this time, there were no guards to stop him if he felt like reaching out and putting her into a chokehold. But Orihime didn't care. This time, she wasn't backing down.

"You don't like it when others look at you as a human being, not a force, do you?"

That was it. In one fell swoop, he'd jumped her, nearly knocking over the table as he pinned her to the ground, panting as he glared down at her in sheer frustration and pain-his lower back was throbbing. Her heart was hammering in her chest like a drum at a concert but still, Orihime wouldn't give in.

"Why? Why, why, _why_?! Why the fuck do you insist on this? You keep calling me 'human'-why are you trying to take away my purpose? What do you want from me?! What the _fuck_?!" He slammed his fist into the floor beside her head, and Orihime let out a slow breath.

"I'm not trying to take away anything. But even you can't say it, one hundred percent: were you really put here to kill? Or was it just a case...of circumstances?" Again, the tears were building up, and this time, she was too busy trying to find her words to focus on holding them back. "You did all of these horrible things, and you expect the world to hate you, b-but the truth is, Grimmjow-san...I can't. I just can't hate you. I can admit what you did, but I...I can't not care about you." Now she was crying underneath him, crying tears for him. For _him_. He could have killed her on the spot, and she still shed tears for him.

"When I hid my visiting you from most everyone else, it wasn't because there was something wrong with it...but because they wouldn't understand. They just wouldn't understand why. And I don't have a choice in getting anyone to. I could tell them about everything that happened between us, but what would that accomplish?" She sniffled. "They'd try to keep me locked in further, because they think that they're protecting me from myself, but-but if this is wrong, then I...I don't care! I don't wanna be right!"

It happened in a split second. First he was towering over her, and in the next moment, Grimmjow found himself kissing the woman pinned beneath him. She froze, apparently stupefied for a few moments, before her tiny hands found their way up, to wrap around and link together at the back of his neck.

Now he was nipping sharply at her lips, determined to tear at the skin himself, and then just as quickly as it started, it was over. His lips were parted from hers, and his tongue was now lapping at her cheeks, licking up the tears. She trembled, but Orihime made no move to push him away. She let him continue until her hiccups had stilled and her tears had stopped running, which was when he sat up, to run a hand through his hair and let out a shaking sigh. Absently, he helped her sit up, not meeting her eyes as he struggled to come to terms with what had just happened.

He had kissed her. He had kissed this woman. Why? What did it mean? Did he want her? Had he merely been struck by her words? Was that it? Or was he just looking to get his rocks off, after having been locked away for so long? He didn't know, he didn't know, he didn't know! He needed time to think, to sort things out. But one thing was for certain:

He had claimed this territory as his.

"Woman." He reached out, to cup Orihime's chin in his hands. "I'm goin' out for a bit. But I _will_ be back-I swear it to you. So don't you go thinking that you're rid of me just yet. We got unfinished business to take care of here." She nodded, heart practically in her mouth by this point. Holding his hand for as long as he would allow, Orihime stared into his eyes-those vivid blue pools of never-ending depth. What else could she find if she kept trawling through them, she wondered?

Standing up, he headed for the front door, stepping out with a quiet click. Unknown to Orihime, he was actually planning to sit up in a nearby treetop. As if he would go far now, anyway. Not with the coppers on his tail, and with all this...whatever it was, between him and the redhead inside. What would he call this, anyway? Love?

His brow furrowed. No. He wasn't in the business of love. He couldn't have cared less about any feelings she might've had towards him.

But then...what about _his_ feelings towards _her_?

Back inside the tiny apartment complex, Orihime let out a sigh that she seemed to have been holding in for the longest time. Grimmjow had _kissed_ her. _Grimmjow_ had kissed _her_! Any sane person would tell her she shouldn't have been excited over such a thing, but she was. Just like when she'd first gone to see him behind the glass, her nerves were dancing up and down her body.

And this time, it felt good. No more lies-it. Felt. Good.

With a tiny smile on her face, Orihime began cleaning up her dishes. After all that had happened, there was no way she could finish her meal. A cold breakfast just didn't compare to the man she loved.

The man she loved...but did he really love her, too?

**A/N: Oh, boy. 'sighs' Where do I begin?**

**So. There haven't been any new updates for this story in the last two-three weeks. And for that, I apologize. 'bows'  
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**I got caught up in a lot of personal issues, including some nerves over these later chapters, and whether or not I had actually known what I was doing when I wrote this part. Did it fit w/the saga? Was it too much? Was it not enough, should there have been more people, what story am I trying to tell here, exactly? Things like that.  
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**At one point, I actually wound up in the hospital. Got out about a week ago, I believe. Also, I had to have stitches. ^^; Yeah, it...was pretty bad. I wasn't able to read/respond to certain things for the longest time.  
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**But. At this point, I have come to the conclusion: Screw it. I wrote the story that called to me; I brought this idea onto the screen. I don't want to alter it dramatically; it won't be the story I was setting out to make. And that wouldn't be fun, for either me or my reader-friends.  
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**So, while edits are still under way, these last few chapters will be posted on time. And hopefully, they shall be enjoyed, as well. Things are really heating up, at long last. This is the final stretch: just five more updates after this, and the tale is complete. What do _you_ think will happen from here? I'm all eyes and ears. :)  
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**Take care, everyone.  
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	22. Only Happy When It Rains

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Only Happy When It Rains**

The gloomy weather out of nowhere should've been a sign that all was not well on the horizon, or that something big was about to happen. But of course, the simplest signs are easily and often missed.

It was the fourth whole day that Grimmjow was spending at Orihime's apartment, and his sixth day as a fugitive on the run. Since the weather was bad, he was choosing to stay indoors and restrict his contemplation to the couch in the parlor, as he stared up at the ceiling. Just like being back in his prison cell, only it wasn't. It really wasn't. The atmosphere alone gave him a sense of hope, something he hadn't had ever in his life, as far as he could recall. Though it was being somewhat masked by the oppressiveness of the pounding rain at the moment.

Orihime wasn't sure how to approach him. After all that had happened those few days ago, she didn't even know if he wanted her to. She'd made him breakfast, but that was about it. She had even started going to work again, leaving him alone, and he hadn't said otherwise, so. Luckily, none of her neighbors seemed to have taken note of the fact that there was a new resident in her room, which was a big relief, especially after the fight. But how long could this really last?

For now, she was standing at her sink, watching the droplets run in rivulets down the glass. It was like watching her feelings travel-all the twists and turns and washed out ends she'd gone through, to arrive at this one conclusion.

She was in love with Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, even knowing all that he had done. And now, there was a chance that he could be in love with her, too. Or at least care for her in some form or fashion, whatever he was capable of. She would take it.

As the rain continued to fall, Orihime was startled from her musings by the faint thump of footsteps. Turning around, she saw that Grimmjow was now sitting up, looking at his lap. She wanted to ask him, so badly, what was going through his head; was something wrong? Did he need anything? Was he mad at her? What was he thinking about, in particular? Or who?

"I need to leave soon." The words hit her like a ton of bricks. Orihime took a step forwards. He still hadn't lifted his head to make eye contact. "Leave? When? A-And for where?" She hadn't meant to stutter, hadn't meant for her voice to come out so shaky, but it had. Again, he did not regard her.

"Within the next day. If I'm to keep my freedom, I gotta get my ass in gear. Don't want 'em stumbling upon me here-I doubt you'd want the cops bustin' down your door, either." Why couldn't he look at her? After all the thinking he'd done yesterday, high up in that damned tree, you'd think he would have come up with some sort of answer. But he hadn't. He had nothing. No rhyme or reason as to what had possessed him to kiss this woman on the floor the day before.

When had it become about escape, anyway? He was here! That had been his whole objective! Break out of that shithole, and find his way back to Inoue. And here he was, in her house, with her staring at him for all the world like he'd just stepped on her heart under a pair of steel-toed boots. What was wrong with this picture?

Well, for one thing, he still hadn't really told her why he'd broken out in the first place. It had been because of her, her and only her. But why, that was still the question. And the closer he got to a resolution, the harder it was for him to suspend his disbelief.

Was he just a fool? Was he playing with her emotions? Did he get some sort of kick out of seeing her like this, one minute on top of the world and the next, struggling to keep the tears contained? Or did it run deeper than that? She had some kind of effect on him, that much was certain. And it wasn't because she was trying to or wanted to, either. Everything that had built up between them had all been created willingly; he'd sworn to push it out, but in the end he had wound up letting it in. And it wasn't just from the prison visits, either. It stretched back, way back. Far back. Back to the time of their youth.

Back to the very first time they'd met, when she'd willingly thrown herself in between him and Kurosaki, staring at him so defiantly, even when such an emotion should have been foreign to a creature like her.

So soft. So delicate.

Was it just a fascination on his part, a bizarre desire to play and push and pull and see how far it went? To see how deep the hole extended? How much of herself she was willing to give to him? Truth be told, if she were, Grimmjow wanted it all. He wouldn't settle for being second fiddle.

But then, again, why did he seek her attentions in the first place? Was he just...jealous, that Kurosaki had someone who had been so staunchly willing to suffer for him, to die for him? Or was he mad that Ichigo had never acted upon it? Why did this one woman perplex him so? Now that they were alone, he'd hoped that he would finally be able to get everything sorted, figure out an explanation for this warmth she, of all people, brought to him. It was almost on the same level as the thrill he'd gotten every time he'd fought, or killed someone worthwhile.

So then, did that mean...he wanted to kill her, too? A sharp pang shot across his heart, and he buried his face in clenched fists. No, that wasn't it at all!

"You can't..." This time, Grimmjow had to look up. Orihime couldn't quite believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. But here they were, and she suddenly felt so small in her baggy sweater and swishing skirt. "You can't leave...me...not like this, not yet..."

"Why?" Now, Grimmjow was on his feet. He marched a few paces forward. "And just who are you to tell me what the fuck I can and can't do, huh?" Orihime refused to step back, even as awed as she was at his six foot frame, and his imposing gait. She'd spent enough of her life as the shrinking violet. This time, she would get what she wanted: a solid resolution. No more 'what if's' or missed chances.

"You came out here. To find me." Now it was Orihime's turn to fire back. "Why?" And it worked. That cocky swagger deflated just a sliver; he backtracked by one place, his expression being somebody who had obviously been caught in a sticky situation. She moved forwards.

"It wasn't just-just to get better. You can't lie to me like that, Grimmjow-san. You had a reason for being here. A-and I'll-I'll be damned if you're going to leave me without telling me what it is!" She'd never spoken so fiercely or heatedly before, not even when she'd confronted Ichigo. But here she was now, practically standing on tip-toes as she threw these commands in the male's face. Grimmjow was torn between admiration for her sudden spine, and frustration at her questions because he himself didn't even have the answers.

Or he did, but was refusing to acknowledge them.

"Tch! You were just a safe house, okay? I knew I could get cover here, not just patched up!" Oh, how the lies stung upon his tongue, twisting the muscle into throbbing knots, as his conscience screamed at him for turning his back on his own beliefs. No matter how crazy it may have been, even if he'd had to admit that he still didn't know why, she deserved the truth. Orihime wasn't just anybody he could pull the wool over.

She meant something to him.

The rain seemed to be pounding harder now, in time with Orihime's heart. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. He had kissed her. He had _kissed her_! Was that all for nothing then, what had happened between them those days before, and before that, and during all those visits, and everything else? It couldn't be. It just couldn't be!

Her fairy tale was fractured. But she was going to get some kind of ending from this, even if she had to fight with tooth and nail for it. They'd come this far-where was the infallible honesty that had made her remember him so vividly? Now, he resembled a coward, grasping at straws to cover his tracks. Why did he feel the need to hide from her? It was eating her up inside!

"You're lying, Grimmjow-san. I know you. You don't do things for nothing. What about then?" The rage was slowly beginning to seep through, into Orihime's tone, and she forced it down with a fierce shove and a swallow. "What were you thinking when you kissed me?"

He rounded on her then. "That didn't mean jack shit, okay?! I was confused, and I got caught in the heat of the moment, and it's been five fucking years, and you don't get to say this about me, anyways! Who the hell do you think you are? My conscience? Me? Fuck off!" It was a futile battle he was fighting, and Grimmjow knew it. He was drowning, sinking, and the only way to swim was staring him in the face. His only lifeline.

Then...she turned away.

"So I was j-just an outlet for you, then? Fine. Go. Go, but please, when you do...d-don't come back." Orihime's heart was breaking, being tugged in so many different directions all at once. But she couldn't take it anymore. If Grimmjow truly didn't care for her, she couldn't force him to. All she could do was let him go, no matter how much it tore her apart inside. Just let go, no longer in control. Just like always.

Just like always.

Grimmjow could see it in her expression, in her body. She was aching, and she was giving up. Again, she was giving him what he wanted. Her feet began to move slowly, in the direction of her bedroom, leaving him behind. But-damn it, this wasn't what he wanted at all! "Don't you walk away from me!" He dove out, to catch her in his grasp, and before they knew it they found themselves against the nearby wall, Orihime pinned under Grimmjow's larger form, both of her wrists in his tight grip. Her eyes were wide. He was panting.

"Don't...don't ever do that again." He leaned in closer. "You did it once, and I couldn't stand it. I hated it. I fucking hated it, okay? It drove me mad, so much that I had to break out of that fucking prison just to bring you back to me." Orihime's heart skipped. "Like hell I'm letting you do it a second time." And that was when, once more, he kissed her, passionate and rough and hungry and needing and wanting. This time, there was no resistance on Orihime's part at all.

She could feel them-those unusually sharp canines of his, grazing her lips. She could feel his mask fragment pressing into her lower jaw, as he forced her mouth open with his tongue, deepening the kiss. She returned the affection as best she could, longing to hold him close in her arms, and run her hands through that shock of hair. As it was, she could only bend her hands down in his grip, fingertips brushing lightly against his skin. He felt this then, and let her go, still ravenously attacking her mouth. One hand now rested upon the wall, while the other had settled on her right hip.

Orihime had gotten her wish. Her arms were now free to wrap around his neck, and pull him as close to her as possible. She felt the sharp nip at her lips, but aside from wincing slightly did not stop the contact. The taste of blood began to mingle between them, and if anything, it seemed to make Grimmjow even more aggressive. He growled, pushing her further back into the wall, putting the pressure on her spine. She whimpered, as her chest was pressed between them. They continued kissing like this, until at long last the need for air forced them to break apart. A thin strand of saliva connected them, before breaking; Orihime's lips were red and smeared with the faintest hints of blood. Grimmjow leaned in, to lick them away. He was panting, and this time, she was as well.

"No matter _what_ the fuck I do...I just can't forget you. I was never able to view you as a victim, and I even let you go, multiple times...but deep down inside, that's where you stayed. That's where I couldn't drive you away. So fuck it all. Like it or not, I'm not letting you go again, woman." His blue eyes were heavily clouded over as he leaned in to kiss her once more, this time much lighter and shorter. The pressure between them was beginning to dissipate. "Ever again. Never again."

After a few more moments of silence and breath-catching, Grimmjow stood up, allowing Orihime to slide out from under him. She didn't stray far though, her hand less than an inch from his own. He let out a sigh of defeat, for the first time.

"But even then...I have to leave. Whether or not they catch me, I don't care. But I ain't dragging you down with me. You're gonna stay exactly as I remember you, and not one of them fucking pigs is gonna change that." Orihime nodded, hearing his words while thinking of her own response. It was true, he couldn't stay. There was never meant to be a happy ending between them; she was the Princess, and he was the Devil. It was fate that their paths would cross, but never wind together as one.

Or was it?

She had an idea. An idea that was so very unlike her that it was almost as if she were being possessed by another-but by God, if ever there was a time for her to make a stand, it was now. She wasn't a little girl anymore. She was a woman. She was free to make her own choices, no matter what they may be.

And this choice...would _never_ be regretted. Not even on her deathbed.

"Eh? Where are you going now?" By this point, the pattering of the rain had become a dull soundtrack to the two figures inside the apartment. Grimmjow was now looking on in abject confusion, as Orihime slipped by him and carefully, began making her way down the hall. She hoped she didn't need to say anything; it was for the better that he picked up on it himself.

_She's heading for her room, I'm guessing...should I follow her?_ Taking in the slow, deliberate movements of her steps, Grimmjow decided that yes, that was what she wanted him to do. So, with just a bit of hesitation, he began the trek down after her, unsure of what he might find.

But at least he wasn't losing her again. That much was certain.

For whatever reason, he wanted this quirky, unassuming, selfless woman to stay by his side. He wanted her more than he'd wanted anyone else, in the whole entire world. And that was saying something, seeing as he'd never wanted anyone at all. She gave him a sense of closure, of solidity, of balance. Even with all he'd been through, and the number he was, and the stain on society's shoe he was considered, none of that really mattered when he was with her. She didn't let it matter. She didn't make it matter.

Timidly, she opened her door, and stepped inside her room, heading for the center, waiting for him to catch up. She held her breath in her chest, anticipation continuing to build anew. She could hear his footsteps, creaking softly against the wood. Her hands were tucked behind her back, facing him, as she looked out the window. What would he think when he saw her living quarters? The only people who had been here were her closest female friends, Tatsuki and, on one occasion, Rangiku, when she'd been having a particularly rough couple of days.

Grimmjow had been expecting to see a room full of girly fluff and squeaky clean sweetness and the like. So he was surprised to see that her room only contained a few stuffed animals, about three of them, lined up on a shelf beside some books. There was a dresser with a mirror, and a closet in the corner wall, along with a rug in the center. A small folding table rested against the side that Orihime was now facing, as the rain poured outside. The walls were white, and the curtains were grey. The bed itself was covered in a thick indigo comforter with off-white pillows, that looked grey anyways in the dull lighting. A nightstand with a small lamp and alarm clock completed the picture.

"You're..." she began, "the first...man, that I've had in my room, in all my life. Aside from my brother, I mean." And that was when Grimmjow understood the message that she was sending him.

She understood that their time left was limited. So she didn't want to forget it. And this was her way of memorializing it, between the two of them. All hesitations thrown aside, he stepped in fully, closing the door quietly behind him as a sort of strange courtesy.

"This...this is what you want, right?" He'd never been one to show caring or concern when it came to what his partner wanted. Get in, get out. No cuddling, no sweetness, no regard of whether or not they were truly satisfied. What he wanted, he took. He got it. But here...here, he found himself treading lightly, as if walking amongst the wings of angels. He continued stepping forwards gingerly, until he was standing directly behind her. He reached out, to brush her long hair away from her neck.

She moved away, to instead sit down upon the edge of the bed to their right. She barely made an indent on the surface. He followed suit, and it was almost like being a virgin again, as his first time vaguely flickered through his mind's eye. He had done what felt right, and the girl in question hadn't had the nerve to speak up and tell him off otherwise. He would have killed her if she had. Alcohol may or may not have been involved.

But this was different. As Orihime gazed longingly at him with those grey eyes of hers, he felt a sense of...obligation, and duty, to do things right. For the both of them. This was both a beginning, and an end.

"If I told you...that I loved you, what would you say? Would you laugh at me, or push me aside? I know that's not what you like to call it..." Her voice was so gentle, and her lips were so full, just begging to be ravaged once again. Laugh at her? No, he wasn't going to laugh at her! Maybe he couldn't say "I love you, too" in response, but he still applauded her for having the guts to confess. Hadn't he just bared his own soul to her a few minutes earlier, even if the terminology and methods were different?

His response was to lean over, cupping her face in his hand, and kiss her once more, deeply.

**A/N:...yeah, I fail.**

**SO. After...what, three, four weeks, maybe even longer, we _finally_ have a new update to this story. It's the precursor to a BIG changing point in the GrimmHime relationship, as well as one of the last major climaxes [no pun intended] of the fic. How do you like the buildup? Too dramatic, not dramatic enough, too soft, too rough, what? I'm all eyes [since the feedback is written].  
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**I've been going through some really rough spells recently, and I won't bore you w/the details. I do apologize for not responding to your awesome feedback, though. :( But this time, I assure you, the updates WILL continue properly. I want to finish this story, and give my readers the resolutions they want to see, and not after delays of months/years at a time. 'winces as she remembers her earlier fics' So here you go.  
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**Next chapter:...you can probably already guess what's going to happen here. So I don't need to tell you. See you all then, and MUCH LOVE to all of you fantastic readers for your support. Take care, everybody.  
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	23. Dirge

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Dirge**

As the rain continued to pour outside, the dreary mood had no effect or bearing on the two figures inside, seated upon the bed. Their lips were locked together in a heated, struggling embrace. Not for power or dominance, but to reach as much of each other as was possible. Grimmjow was now pulling Orihime close to him, arm wrapped around her tiny waist while his hand traveled down, from her cheek to her chin, then along her neck and down her shoulder and arm. His fingers threaded through with hers as he gripped her hand tightly, still biting and nibbling at her lips. As she held his hand with hers, her other arm had lifted, hand behind his neck as she clutched at his hair.

How did this feel so natural, so right? How could they have taken an entire decade to figure it out? Were they just both really that dense? Or had life simply gotten in the way, forcing them to ignore what was both meant to be, and at the same time never meant to happen? Oh, if only the others, all of them, knew about what was happening now, they'd-

_No_. It didn't matter what the others would think. As Grimmjow slowly bent her back, easing himself over her smaller body, Orihime banished the thoughts of anything having to do with 'others' from her mind. This was not their moment. It was not their life to live. It was hers, and hers alone. And she wanted to share it with him. This was the one chance they were ever going to get in order to be happy together. Why shouldn't she be allowed to engage in it?

God, she tasted so sweet and silky! Grimmjow couldn't get enough of her, of this woman beneath him, whose lips continued to yield and yet pushed back with a strength and fervor all their own. She was both tender and tempered. She had been through her own share of life's hells, and had been more than open about her experiences. Why she hadn't tried to pry at him and get him to open up about his own life though, he had no idea. But he liked it this way. This is how it was supposed to be.

He broke away again, but this time, instead of stopping to stare deep into those quietly storming grey eyes of hers, he bent down, moving her long hair aside to begin nipping and sucking at her neck. Orihime let out a small gasp, and he let go of her hand, to trail his fingers back up her right arm and allow them to rest on her shoulder. He gripped at the sweater that was meant to be bulky, but instead fell about her curvy frame, falling into place so methodically.

The hand that was on her hip was now drifting down to her skirt, and then her thighs, knees, fingertips grazing the fabric and skin with a unique intensity-it was like little jolts to her system each time. From her shoulder, his hand wandered lower, to now rest at the bottom of her top, tugging at it in a mixture of playful impatience.

Orihime could barely breathe as she took in every last sensation and caress. All she cared about, in that moment, was the man who was now licking at her collar, as his hand slipped up under her sweater and along her abdomen. Underneath the thick fabric was just a plain t-shirt, and then her bra, but between the two of them it seemed like so much was in the way.

She never would have thought, in her wildest dreams, that it would be Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez she was sharing this experience with. She had, when she was younger and had those moments of being alone in the dark, imagined that it might be Ichigo, or later on some nameless, faceless man who would come and take her away. But the fantasies never seemed to satisfy, as if inside she knew that the 'Prince' in place was the wrong person, or not such a stranger after all. It was as if she'd known Grimmjow her whole life, even though she barely knew that much about him.

Where was he born? Who did he grow up with? Where was his family now? Did they care about him, or he about them? Apparently not, seeing as she was the only visitor to his name. But even with all these empty blanks and spaces, it didn't matter. Somehow, they just fit. It was an unspoken connection, even as she'd looked right into his eyes and said "I love you". They were meant to be together, just not in the typical sense of forever.

This was their eternity, right here, in this room, in this place, under this roof: the culmination of their dates and courtship that had all taken place in a schoolyard and a dingy shed and a hospital and a prison complex. These were their vows and their promises and their future, laid bare for none but themselves to witness. It was both magical and depressing.

But they didn't let the details get in the way. Not anymore. Looking at her for but a brief second, Grimmjow began to carefully lift the sweater up, dragging her pale pink shirt partway with it. She sat up, to help him remove it, until the heavy material lay thrown aside on the floor, and she was pinned beneath him once more. He was now running a hand up and down her bare arms.

To think, that in all his life, he'd never experienced anything quite like this! He, the daredevil, the destroyer, the fearless, the one who was always on top and in charge and rebellious. He could have easily attempted something like this as a joke, an experiment, and found out for himself exactly what lay in store. Why hadn't he? If he had tried that instead; if he had forgotten his interest in Ichigo and kicking his ass to Hell and back for just one moment, and allowed himself to think as craftily as his feline persona, the Pantera suggested, he could have come up with this plan.

Maybe then Orihime wouldn't have been kidnapped, and beaten half to death, and he wouldn't have ended up on death row, and they could have-

"Grimmjow-san." That name. It brought him back to the moment. He looked at her, blue eyes scanning her figure as he leaned in close, to kiss at what was revealed of her pale, flat stomach. Orihime shivered, both hands reaching up to run lightly through his hair. His tongue trailed around her navel, before flicking at it and returning behind his lips. He sat up, looking down at her as if plotting. Deciding what to do with her. Whatever it was, she would gladly go along with it.

He leaned over, until his lips were but half and inch from her ear. "Tell me," he breathed out huskily, "what they used to call me on the streets. I want to hear it from you." He nipped at her ear, lapping at the outer shell, and she shivered once more. "Tell me." He sat up.

"P-Pantera...They called you Pantera. The Panther." Her voice was so soft, taking every syllable into consideration as she said this, face flushed and eyes wide as she lay on her back, looking up at him both adoringly and with trepidation. He nodded. She was both his greatest pleasure, and his greatest prey. In this time they had left together, he would make her see just how much she meant to him. How she'd driven him up the walls. Cats liked to play with their prey, and he wouldn't leave a single part of her unmarked or unexplored.

Returning his focus to her body, he now let his one hand slide up and down her leg, squeezing at her thigh under her skirt, while the other was resting against her side, under the shirt. Bit by bit, he lifted it up, leaving a kiss and a bite in his wake against every new piece of exposed flesh. She was beginning to squirm, and this just made it all the more enjoyable for him. At long last, he came across the edge of her bra, a lacy pink and white thing. It covered her full bosom, but did not hide the tops, nor the full cleavage between. He smirked.

Again, a removal of clothing. This time though, he followed suit, shedding his top to fully reveal his bare, muscular torso. Orihime's hands slipped across his skin, taking in every inch, but inevitably, her fingertips began to follow the scars. To distract her from any negative memories, he bent down, to nibble at her collar once again. She held him close, their bodies brushing against one another, as he began kissing down, down to the very top of her chest. He stopped then, waiting for the confusion to register in her features as she expected him to ask a question or make a remark.

"Ah..." That was when his tongue slid out again, to graze the smooth skin, and dip down to the edge of her cleavage. He couldn't lick straight through-it was too tight. That bra was in the way. But no matter. They were each taking their time, and he let out a low growl as Orihime's hands danced just along the edge of his fresh wound, before darting to the other side in apology, stroking his hips that stood out over the top of his low-riding pants. The brief hint of pain gave him such a rush, though! And she'd done such a wonderful job of cleaning it up...

This time, he did not hesitate. With swift motions, he had her legs drawn up, nearly resting on his shoulders. The blush on her face went from cherry red to fire in a second, as he pushed her skirt up, marveling at the semi-matching underwear beneath. She seemed to like these lacy confections...but then again, they did fit her well. With attention fully focused, he began working on her legs. Orihime let out a soft moan as he sucked at her thighs, leaving faint bruises in his path.

His, all his! She was all his! Nobody else but he was privy to what existed inside her or beneath those tasteful outfits. Only him. Out of all the men she could have chose, she chose him. And now, he was damn proud of it. With a new gusto, he licked and suckled at the back of her knees, reveling in the squeal that left her lips.

Orihime had been expecting Grimmjow to want to make things move quickly, and get to the 'good parts' quickly. So how surprised was she that he was taking such a level of time and care with her body, trying out so many different techniques to get her blood going. If he kept this up, she was liable to-

"Ohh..." He had pushed her skirt up, to bite at the top of her left thigh, before kissing it quickly. The pain, mixed with tender action, sent her heart fluttering. It made her wish, almost yearningly...that she could do the same to him as he was doing to her. That she could give back to him as much of these feelings as he was giving to her. Her eyes darted to the waist of his pants.

She'd never actually done anything like this with anyone before, much less talked about it. But she didn't have to. In today's world, you heard things, and saw things, whether you wanted to or not. She hadn't been a prude, though...it was more just her not knowing what good the information would be to her, seeing as love hadn't really been solely front and center on her mind. How would he react though, if she were to do something, in response to all his touches? What did they call this...'foreplay', right?

"Hm?" Grimmjow had just been about to start removing Orihime's skirt, when he felt a light tug at the top of his pants. Looking down, he saw that two tiny hands were now attempting to pull his clothes off slowly, hesitantly. It was like she wasn't sure if he wanted her doing this. He chuckled, placing his own hands over hers. She jumped up, nearly colliding into his chin with her head. "Need some help there, Princess?" In a flash, the pants were gone, and Orihime was now left with the image of Grimmjow, in a pair of dark boxers-were they blue or black? She couldn't be sure.

"Like what you see so far?" She did, she most certainly did. He towered over her, this impressive presence of a human being, arms now resting on either side of her as he gave her a knowing smile. The rainy scenery outside, filtering in through the window, cast smoky shadows over his body, stretching out the scars carved into his flesh. Orihime couldn't help herself-she had to run her hands over his skin one more time, just to feel every inch of muscle and tissue under her fingertips. He shivered slightly as her fingers stopped just short of the waistband of his underwear.

He truly had been fighting for his life, his very existence. As much as Orihime could only begin to imagine the damage that he'd caused to those around him, she couldn't hate this figure before her. He'd received his fair share of damage too, and had even stopped it, on occasion. It wasn't much, but it was something, in her eyes. Unlike him though, all of Orihime's scars were on the inside. They were hidden away from the world, so no one could judge her unless they really got to know her. And in the end, who had been that sole, single person who had learned all of her hidden secrets, had gotten to know the girl beyond the persona in such a personal way?

Him. There were others who were close, but only one who had done it the way he had.

Grimmjow resumed his actions, kissing up from her ankles, across her calves, around her knees and along her thighs. That damned skirt was in his way. He wanted more, wanted to see more, feel more. So he would have more. Pulling her close with his arm wrapped around her waist, legs spread around him, he began tugging it down, allowing it to slide over smooth, milky colored limbs. Reaching the bottom, she drew her legs together, and swung them to the side, letting the skirt drop to the floor.

She had never been looked at in such a way before. Sure, she'd had the occasional lustful stare, from crooked passersby when she'd had to work late and was all alone on the train coming home, or even back in school, be it university or high school, from the boys who'd passed her in the hallways or on the campus. Pure animal instinct, that's all it was.

But this...the way Grimmjow was looking at her now, could not be defined as merely 'lust'. There was something more to it, something she'd never seen in anyone else, nor had she ever seen it on his face before. In all honesty, she thought it was awe-inspiring.

Although he'd been teasing her long limbs with his mouth, to see them fully uncovered, save for that bit of cloth in the middle, was a whole new ballgame. He ran one hand up, all the way to her hip, and let it rest there as he took in this new aspect to her body. Had he ever really taken notice of the female form before, other than what it could do for him?

She was beautiful. Goddamn it, Orihime was fucking beautiful. It was almost a sin, the way she was always so covered up and hidden away from the world. To know that he alone though, got to witness this...his possessiveness fully in play, he pushed her back, and began savagely kissing her lips once again. Her arms wrapped around him, legs drawing up and knees barely brushing his hips. He was going to make her his, in a way she'd never forget. In a way neither of them would.

With one single motion, his hand rested upon her breast. Orihime hadn't even seen it coming, but once it was there, she didn't want it to move. He gave her ample asset a squeeze through the tightly covering fabric, and she let out another gasp, this one much louder at the unexpected sensation it caused. It felt...good. She thought kissing was fun, but kissing combined with this? Was amazing.

He continued kneading the flesh, growing all the more aroused and frustrated as she pulled him closer to her, but he couldn't get past that bra. He wanted more. She was beautiful and willing and all his, and he wanted more. Reaching up behind her back, his fingers searched for the clasp.

"Ah? Grimmjow-san, what are you-" He froze. That name again. Why did she still insist on calling him by it? With a growl and a forceful shove, he had her on her back in the mattress. She let out a cry, but did not struggle as he bent down, until he was almost nose-to-nose with her. The look in his eyes was fearsome.

"Don't. Don't call me by that honorific any more. You know me. You _know_ me. Say it. Say my name." His hands had shot up, in an instant, to suspend her wrists over her head. "Say it!" She shifted in his grasp, but only let out a little muffled groan. His grip tightened, but his expression softened.

"Say it. Please. I want to hear it from your lips." He had never said 'please' for anything in his life. But here he was, saying it now. The things this woman did to him, he couldn't explain.

She looked at him, those grey eyes so undemanding and all-seeing. Her lips parted, every syllable falling from them as if it were some verse in a sacred spell, and she was saying it to bring about some cataclysmic turn of events, in the softest tones she could muster. "Grimmjow...Jeagerjaquez."

No one had ever said his name like this. Hell, most people couldn't have cared less about his name. But she cared. She cared enough to follow his orders, and show him that he meant just as much to her as she claimed he did. That this wasn't just some daydream she was living out; it was real. Every inch, every part of it was real. And there was no turning back.

With that, he released her wrists, and began sucking at her neck again, pulling her up into a firm embrace. She clutched and clawed at his back, breathing growing heavier and little noises beginning to escape from her lips as she ground her lower body against him. The heat was building up between them, and it was only a matter of time before it reached the breaking point, and they snapped.

One hand was holding her close, still tinkering with the back of her bra. The other was now dragging over her abdomen and down to her thigh, nails scraping against the tender flesh. She cried out, and he responded with a sharp bite to the crook of her neck. This caused her to let out another cry, that gradually eased into a moan as with a soft click, the clasps opened and the bra fell loose about her arms and front, allowing him full access to her mounds. The hand that had been behind her back was now in front, helping to pull off that cumbersome piece of cloth and underwire, throwing it in some random direction of the room.

At feeling the chill of cold air upon her exposed skin, Orihime's first natural instinct was to cover up-these things weren't meant to be seen, after all. That's how you were raised, to be so sheltered. But her hands were stopped, and slowly pulled apart and away, by ones larger than her own. Grimmjow was looking at her, curiosity and hunger blended into one.

"Don't. I want to see. There ain't no shame here."

So, following his motions, in an almost teasingly stilted manner, if she were capable of such a behavior as a person, Orihime allowed him to remove her hands from where they covered her chest, until they rested up top, on the sides of her breasts. Grimmjow let go of them then, and they fell to her sides immediately. Her heart was thudding in her chest, nerves and euphoria blended up into one. Did he...was he happy, to view her like this?

The more he got to see of her body, the more he yearned for her. No other woman had built up in him the intensity and desire that was currently threatening to overtake his entire being, as he stared down in fascination at the blushing, shy beauty below him. Her assets drew up and down slowly, shakily, with every breath she took, rosy nipples beginning to perk from all the excitement. He could see her heart beating through her chest, it was so rapid. What did it sound like? What did it feel like? Tentatively, not wanting to ruin the moment, Grimmjow leaned down, to place his ear against her left breast. Orihime let out a long sigh, but did not do anything to push him away.

The steady pumping that greeted his hearing was both reassuring and enticing. How fast her heart pounded, and all because of him! How much faster could he get it going, he wondered, if he continued on with his actions? Her body was so much fun to explore, on a whole new level than what he was used to. Instead of examining intestines and ripping through flesh and admiring how sticky blood dulled and dried as the minutes turned into hours, and dying screams became gurgling, garbled moans from frothing lips, he was now finding out how to make the human body react on a whole new level.

Not just for his pleasure, but for the sake of another's, as well. And this time, he had no qualms about sharing.

"A-are you...do you like this, Grimmjow? This contact?" She knew it was a silly question, but then again, she had always been the questioning type. If something seemed different, she would react on it. She'd always been so darn sensitive growing up. Now, she was sensitive as to the feelings and concerns of her partner. If Grimmjow wasn't happy with any of this, she wanted to know, so that she could-

But her musings were cut off by another heated kiss, before his lips tore away, to make their way down to her exposed chest. With a long, lingering lick, he curled his tongue around the underside of Orihime's right breast, causing her to shiver. That was answer enough as to whether or not he was appreciative of this new step. With nimble fingers, he began to squeeze at the other side, while his lips and tongue continued to caress and apply varied pressure and attention to these most tender aspects of her body. Orihime let out a gasp of a moan, as his teeth grazed the skin of her breast, before settling in to play lightly with a nipple, causing it to harden further. From the sound, Grimmjow knew that he was doing things just right.

The female body was so much fun to play with! At least, hers was. He'd never given a damn about any other woman in his whole life-they'd come and gone, one after the other, as if in a revolving door. Some stayed one night, the others lingered for a few days, or weeks. Maybe even a couple of months, if they could handle the ferocity of the Espada lifestyle. Very few made it that far.

Then again, none of them had been as willing to throw themselves in after him as Orihime had, which was the big difference between them all. The others were faceless, voiceless bodies, who he couldn't remember even if he tried. Orihime was always on his mind, even if and when he'd tried to forget her. She was her own force of nature, just like him, with her own wants and needs and well-worn pathways and stories and scars. They mingled, they intertwined, they danced and mixed, as deeply and fully as they could, because what they had finally discovered in this moment was that they needed each other. But they'd never be able to carve out that life together, that existence which came to so many other partners and pairings.

This was all they were going to get. They needed to make it last.

"Haah...!" His attentions were no longer only focused upon her chest. As his hands roamed over her body, determined to memorize every curve and angle and patch of skin, his right hand had dipped under her left thigh, as her body had arched at a particularly sharp bite from him upon her left breast. He sucked at the spot, leaving behind a rosy welt that would bruise over soon enough. His hand was now kneading at the firm flesh of her upper legs, just barely out of reach from her panties.

Orihime was starting to pant, as she pulled him in closer, arms curving up from under his arms to claw at his back. She felt something hard pressing into her other thigh, as his lower half ground against her, and she could figure out in two seconds what it was. He looked up from her chest, grinning, as his bangs fell into his eyes once more, stretching out the lustful shadows twisted up among the cerulean blue shade.

"Can't help myself. You're one helluva woman, Princess." Her cheeks heated up at hearing this, and he reached out to cup one side against his palm.

"So innocent..." He murmured, stroking her jawline with his thumb. _And yet, so damn provocative._ Her heart skipped, and he lowered his head, to lick a trail down from the top of her breasts to the top of her ribs, all along through her cleavage. "And you're all mine, too." He bit once more at the underside of her breast, and Orihime let out a soft moan, clinging to his back.

That was when his right hand slipped between her legs, thumb pressing up directly against the covered lips that were currently heated with a foreign wetness that Orihime had merely heard stories of, but had never been a voyeur to. The experience was startling, even more so as his larger fingers began to rub, back and forth, teasingly, through the clinging fabric. She let out a gasp, that faded into a pleading mewl, as he tugged lightly at the constrictive cloth.

How? How could such a being exist for him? Had Heaven somehow come early? Had the worlds become mixed by accident, sending him an angel where surely there should have been devils? The dampness that was smeared faintly upon his digit tips was a familiar indicator that his actions were having the desired effect he was aiming for-but this time, he wanted to savor and relish the experience. Before, he wouldn't have given a damn; fucking was fucking, in his eyes.

But not here. Not this time.

Hooking his fingers under the sides of the stretched lacy confection, Grimmjow started to pull down, feeling his own arousal begin to press through the front of his boxers. Fucking hell, it was starting to hurt! What did that mean? He wasn't broken down there, was he? Was this normal? Was she just getting him so turned on that he had no idea which way to go but up? Figuring that was the case, he slid her underwear over her knees and ankles, before once again throwing it to the side. Now she lay before him, his and only his, a precious being, in all her nude glory. Grimmjow forgot about the pain, momentarily, as he took the time to drink her in.

He remembered having taken an art class way back when during his schooling years. They'd studied about all sorts of artists from around the world, though their names escaped him at this time. He'd never been one for drawing, aside from tagging, so the course had put him to sleep. But he did recall that quite a few of them dealt with the human form, most notably the female one. He remembered how his classmates had squealed and blushed and snickered and elbowed each other at the slides of half-naked statues, posed almost in boredom, as if the model or creator couldn't have cared less about the subject in question. That wasn't the point here, though.

What was the point was that none of those artists or their creations, could hold a torch to his Princess as she was, exactly, in this moment. The soft light from outside cast over her bare figure in ghostly shadows, making her skin even paler and creamier to behold. Her long fiery locks were splayed out against the sheets behind her head, framing her heart-shaped face like a swirling halo. Her body was both unusually proportioned, yet perfectly so, filling his eyes like a vision one might see on their deathbed. Beauty of this level was far too ethereal to be restricted to Earth.

As he leaned down, to lap at her abdomen again, he felt a sharp pang once more between his legs. Those fucking boxers were getting in his way. He looked up at Orihime, and although she may have been nervous, her mind seemed to be on the same wavelength as his. "Wanna get rid of these for me?" She nodded, sitting up slightly to take ahold of the waistband of the dark undergarments, and begin sliding them down his front and back...and then his legs...

Once it was apparent that he wasn't going to laugh at her or reject her from what he saw, or even leer at her like she were some soulless figure to simply fondle for his own jollies, Orihime had felt a dozen times more comfortable in her own skin. The way he looked at her...she couldn't help it, she liked it. It could go from curious to questioning to devious and pained, then hungry and longing...so many different emotions that she, and she knew he himself, had been unaware even existed in his repertoire. She could only wait in anticipation of what was to come next.

It hadn't been too hard for her to answer his request with motions, reaching over to help remove those clingy clothes that seemed to stick to his lower half-or was it just her imagination running away with her again? Bit by bit, his body was revealed, until Orihime found herself face-to-face with a man, clad in nothing but the flesh he was born in. He stretched over her, and again, that prominent appendage brushed against her leg, except this time the constraints binding it were gone. She shivered at the sensation that crawled up from her center, to linger among her spine. The heat was nearly at fever pitch, and it felt oh so good.

"Not yet," he whispered into her ear, kissing down the side of her neck, trailing his fingertips along her shoulder before biting down, to leave one more mark. She groaned. "There's one last thing...I have to take care of..."

And in a flash, she was on her, back, legs resting in the air, lover calves firmly atop his shoulders. Grimmjow gave her a knowing wink, before lowering his head. Orihime was going crazy inside, with emotional overload. What was he going to do this time?

She knew, a part of her knew, but still, that persistent, withdrawn and timid half of her just had to ask, had to stir up the suspense and anxiety over what was to come. If anyone had asked her how her first time would have turned out, Orihime could safely say she would have stared at them like a deer in the headlights, before blathering on about some completely unrelated subject that only stemmed from the phrase 'first time'.

With her legs on his shoulders and his hands tracing her thighs, Grimmjow took a good look at just what lay before him. Not that he hadn't seen this before, mind you-but he'd never bothered to memorize it. It was always just 'get in, get out'. If you'd seen one, you'd seen them all. This time, he was determined to prove himself wrong.

She was untouched, he knew that from talking to her. The pinkish hue that graced his eyes almost made him chuckle, though-it nearly matched her cheeks, whether she'd just come in from the cold, or he'd managed to say something that had caught her off-guard and brought the color up into her face. He brought his own closer, taking in the wet sheen that trickled from the center. Extending his tongue, he let the tip graze the substance, taking in its taste.

Even though he'd barely come into contact with her, Orihime felt a miniature shock shoot up through her body, from her feet to the roots of her hair. He was there...and he was looking, and seeing, and oh my goodness, he was so very close, and what else was he going to do? So many thoughts raced through her head, as she waited for his next move.

_Hmm...interesting._ A small smirk played upon his lips, as he felt her jolt from that bit of minimal contact. She tasted...hot, warm, a bit strong. And a tad sweet. He licked his lips, before allowing his tongue to roam out further this time, and linger around her dampened lips.

"Ohh-!" Orihime had to clutch at the sheets, to avoid arching up too far and falling over. Such a thrill, such a charge, such a wonder! She had never known that feelings like these had danced, just out of her reach. And he was the one to bring them about. "G-Grimmjow!" She was really getting breathy now.

Her cries were music to his ears. She wanted more, as did he. So who was he to deny her? This time, his tongue plunged in and out, working around the sensitive sides and the even more tense core. She let out a loud moan this time, and he felt the sensation of fingers in his hair once again. This time, they were pulling. And although her breathing was getting erratic, and it really wasn't something she was used to at all, he was able to make out that single word which slipped from her mouth: "More!"

He continued his work, speeding up the pace as she writhed and twitched against him, tugging and gasping and moaning, a few short words and syllables managing to escape, in between her heavy breaths and array of sounds. The more he lapped up, the wetter she seemed to become. And the harder and more painful it became for Grimmjow below, her arousal causing his to peak all the more.

With a couple more licks, it was over. He sat up, and her legs rested, now spread open at his sides. He was trying to keep his own breathing steady, as he licked the last traces of cum from his lips. She looked at him with that flushed face and beautifully virginal gaze, knowing exactly what he was going to ask of her now. Well, not really 'ask', more like 'state'.

"I want you, now. No more playing around. I'm making you mine." He swept her up into his arms, poised at her entrance, ready to strike. He hissed into her ear "It's gonna smart. But you'll get to like it. You'll never be hurt by me, I swear." She responded, with a last look and a tender kiss. Clutching at his back once more, she swallowed. He nodded. And with a mighty thrust, he was inside.

Orihime couldn't help it-as much as she tried to hold it back by biting her lips, a small scream slipped past, and she buried her face in his shoulder. She could feel the scar pressing into her heated face, as slowly the pain began to register with the rest of her body. He was inside her. Grimmjow was inside her.

Then, it began to subside.

He could feel her nails digging into him, far harder than they had before, and combined with that little shriek of hers he was pretty certain that she hadn't had any idea of what to expect, other than what she may have picked up in lessons and gossip. He was proud to break through, and give her the truth. Wasn't that what he was good at, anyway?

Slowly, bit by bit, her anxious grip began to relax, until she was only holding him close, breathing into his chest. Her head had moved a second or so ago, and she was probably listening to his heartbeat, just as he had with her so long ago. At least, it seemed like an eternity had passed since then. But this was as good a sign as any that he could proceed, and watch her get her very first taste of carnal pleasure. In a way, it was his first time, too. As if those times before were merely misguided practice attempts.

Carefully, he drew out, then gave a solid push back in. She gasped-there was the pain again, and then it faded. He repeated the process slowly, drawing it out for her to experience and savor. And with each stroke, the pain below lessened even more, until a new sensation was taking its place-one that she'd only ever dreamed of. Her grip upon him tightened yet again, but this time, it wasn't out of fright.

"Ohh...Grimmjow..." Orihime's heart was beginning to skip like mad, as she brought her lips to his ear, moaning out his name. He responded with a grunt, and a kick of speed to his actions. He wanted to hear more. She already felt so good surrounding him, reminding him of what was taking place in that moment, instead of allowing his mind to wander to other matters.

He was claiming her, Inoue Orihime. He was taking her as his, leaving his mark. They were making love. Nothing shallow or pointless about it. This was probably going to be the most prominent memory on his mind, until his dying day.

As he kept going, the sweat and sheen building up on their bodies, Orihime was seeing stars. It had all led to this. This single moment, which had never crossed her mind, yet ultimately seemed to fit, as her life flashed forwards to where she was now. Her Prince wasn't quite a Prince, but he wasn't a monster, either. He tethered perfectly in between, balancing, in her eyes-that brutal half that could and would never care for anyone but himself, and this one, this one that found a reason in her existence, bringing a new solidity to his own. Such an unusual division-one would think that it couldn't live like this, but it did.

Out of everyone in the world, she was the one he'd chosen to spare. She was the one he'd chosen not to kill. She was the one he'd allowed to creep in, and take that single scrap of the thing called love that he had nearly cast aside, seeing no use for it on anyone else he'd encountered.

Only her. _Only_ her.

"Ah...aah!" The pleasure was building, and Orihime could feel it inside of her: she was reaching her limit. Grimmjow seemed to be close as well, panting as one arm held her close, and the other pulled at her long locks, tilting her head back. He savagely dove for her neck, letting out a muffled groan as her hands drifted up his back, nails dragging over the scarred muscles. Desperate for something else to cling to, she did her best to lean forwards, biting at his shoulder, to try and leave her own mark behind. It was a bold move, but she needed to do it, at least once. Grimmjow growled, thrusting into her even harder now, forcing her onto her back with her legs drawn up. There it was, that one perfect angle, that one special spot. His name left her lips with a scream of passionate ecstasy. "Grimmjow!"

"Fuck..." He could feel her clenching and tightening around him, and he knew: it was soon. Soon for him, and soon for her, as well. They fit like a puzzle, at long last solved, as he ducked down for another steamy kiss, waiting for her body to respond to the last powerful thrust he gave. It was more than enough to push her over the edge.

With a muffled cry, Orihime felt her body release and contract-she'd wondered, in those late, sleepless nights that had plagued her every so often, how a person could just...do something like that. Wouldn't it be more likely that there was a certain command or action required beforehand?

No. There was none. Her body had reacted instinctively, tightening around him and letting go of all that pent-up desire. She'd felt a stream of warmth leave her opening, almost at the same time that Grimmjow had come as well. It was a unique sensation, to feel another releasing inside you. But it wasn't unwanted. By the look on his face as he tried to catch his breath, looking down at her and brushing a stuck strand of hair from her forehead, Grimmjow was happy, too.

"That was...your first time. You're welcome, by the way." She had to giggle, and he responded by nipping at her collar again. "What did you see?"

She pulled him closer, nerves settling down as she traced his lips with her fingertips. "I...I saw you. And it was wonderful."

"Heh." Obviously satisfied with her answer, he sucked at her digits, before kissing her deeply once more. They were tangled up, messed up, freaked out, strung out, in love and in madness. And they liked it, every minute of it.

The rules were smashed, and all hell had broken loose. They had fallen head first, taking the plunge and never looking back.

But at least they were both in agreement over it.

**A/N:...fire away, everybody. I promised an update, and here it is.**

**Next time: Goodbyes are never easy. Especially not like this.  
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	24. Scar Tissue

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Scar Tissue**

"...and where did you get this one from?"

"Fight in an alley. I got off lucky-mother fucker wound up with a utility knife through the side of his head. Guess it was fate that I'd take that side job, now that I look back on it. That shit came in handy after all."

"Ooh. Ouch. Umm, okay, and what about...this one?"

"Fight at school. Got pushed down the hill near the back, and my clothes snagged on some branches. Shrubbery can be fucking hazardous to your health."

"And this one?"

"If you can believe it, I cut myself shaving. Heh."

It was now mid afternoon, and the earlier rain had finally let up, though the oppressive clouds in the sky continued to blot out the sun. It made the scenery look far darker, and seemed to stretch the time to a later point than it actually was at.

Under the covers in her bedroom, Orihime and Grimmjow had been lying for hours, napping and chatting intermittently. They'd just gotten up for the second time a few minutes ago, and as Grimmjow had rolled over, to see where the light switch was, Orihime had once again caught a glimpse of the scars that stretched out across his body. Her hand had reached out instinctively, to trace those ribbony old wounds. Grimmjow had paused in his actions for but a second, before turning on the lamp.

"You're still so damn caught up in those things, aren't you? Well, go on then-ask me." He was giving her permission to ask about the details of his life upon the streets, but restricted to these lashes across his body. Orihime had taken this chance, seeing as it would never come again, and as she asked, allowed her hand to trail along the contours of battered flesh. Then, she removed them, to replace them with gently pressing lips. Grimmjow said nothing, but she could tell: the movements pleased him.

"You sure have a lot of stories, Grimmjow." She was now curled up against him, cheek pressing into his spine and arms wrapped around his middle. "What about this one?" She traced the outline of the '6' tattooed on his lower back. Even now, she could tell he was smirking.

"It's a brand. When I was in the Espada. Number Six, Sexta Espada, Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez. That was my position." She nodded, apparently fascinated by this new information. It put to rest a question that had been on her mind for quite some time. "Ohh...I see..."

He startled her out of her thoughts by rolling over once more, to hold her closely in his powerful grip. "Oh, yeah? And what about you?" He smirked. "I bet you've got stories, too." He brushed at a bruise upon her shoulder. "Tell me, where'd ya get this one from?"

She blushed. "Y-you know where it came from-you made it, after all." He shook his head, before reaching to point at another spot on her body. "And this one? And this here? Oh-can't forget about that one." He was starting to make her giggle, as he purposefully mapped out every last place he'd left his telltale signs of contact with a light poke and prod.

After another minute or so of this, the laughter died down, with Grimmjow now halfway over her, resting on his arms as she looked up at him, the light from the left cast across her face in odd shadows since he was partially blocking it. He leaned down to kiss her, fingers trailing along her throat as he tilted her head up slowly.

"Do you hate them? The stories I have to tell?" It was an honest question, and as Orihime stared up at him through the half-light, she spoke without a single stammer or stutter to her voice.

"No. I don't hate any part of you."

And perhaps if someone else had heard this, they would have scolded her, chastised her, for speaking so kindly to a devil, but the point was that there was nobody here but them, and there was never going to be anybody else but them, so who really gave a damn what anyone else had to think about it, anyway? This was between them and them alone.

Grimmjow studied her for a few more seconds, noting how the dull light bounced off her shimmering copper locks, that he now had a few strands of wound tightly around an index finger. Then, letting go, he brought his lips down to meet hers, and took her once more.

It was just one day. But like hell they weren't going to try and make it last forever.

**…...**

"So...this it it, huh? Right here?"

It was a bright new morning. The traces of yesterday's rain were nothing but partially dried puddles upon the ground, and the faintest mist upon the plants and buildings that was already evaporating the higher the sun rose in the sky. It was a freak rainstorm, and one couldn't help but think it had shown up for a specific reason, though what that reason was, most people-or almost all of them, in fact, would never know.

And now, standing at the entrance to the wooded area along the local playground, Orihime and Grimmjow's time together had come to an end. The redhead was doing her best to keep a smile upon her face, as Grimmjow said his goodbyes. Or at least, his version of them.

"It was fun. Maybe we can do it again sometime." He gave her a sly wink. "Never knew you were such an animal in the sack, Princess." Although he managed to rouse up a faint bit of color in her cheeks, she knew that his words were just a weak attempt to mask the severity of the situation-like putting a bandaid over a bullet hole. He didn't want to voice the answer they both felt, weighing on their shoulders.

There was never going to be a next time. This was the very last time, in fact, that they'd most likely be seeing each other.

"I-I'll try to write, okay?" There was that darned quiver again. "And can you-can you promise me that t-this time, if or when you throw my letters out...you won't tear them up before you do?" Grimmjow gave her a chuckle, both proud of her determination to see this through, and sad at having to face the truth. The good life was really good to those who got to taste it. This was the worst form of torture, having to turn his back on the woman who had, in no uncertain terms, given him everything.

He reached out, to cup her chin in his hand. She leaned into his touch, not caring that his palm was cold, even as the day's heat increased. "But you know I have'ta tear 'em up, so the rest of them cocksuckers can't get their grubby little hands on them, and sneak a peek at what ya sent me. It's like espionage, you know?"

Orihime's heart was hammering in her chest, and once again, it was for a completely different reason. This time, pangs of agony were shooting across her chest, as she took a step forwards. Thank goodness the kids were all in school today! Why, why did things have to be this way? Why couldn't they have found out sooner? Why couldn't they...why couldn't they...

"Maybe...maybe I'll get another chance to visit you again, too? A-and it'll be just like old times-you can make fun of my silly daydreams, a-and I'll come up with more questions to ask, and maybe this time we c-could even make it to our first anniversary, and celebrate it..." Her voice trailed off, too broken to continue.

Grimmjow gave her a smile then. It was a rare smile, one that wasn't laced with any sort of superiority or devious intent. His thumb brushed her cheekbone.

"You know there ain't gonna be no anniversary. This is our last visit, Princess. We had our hurrahs."

And although she was threatening to burst from the tears, Orihime threw her arms around him then, and hugged him as tightly as was humanly possible for her to achieve. He returned the embrace just as strongly, and she inhaled deeply, letting his scent of blood and nature and simple existence wash over her like a tidal wave. She closed her eyes, and remembered those beautiful moments they'd shared, yesterday and up to this point. She remembered everything that had made her smile, everything that would now and forever remind her of Grimmjow. She sniffled then.

The moment was over. Gently, he pulled away from her, kissing her one last time as he held her hands in his, up above her head. Her fingertips could barely reach his hair, and she longed to run her hands through it just one more time. She savored the sensation of that mask fragment pushing into her skin, like it had always been there for every kiss, even the ones they'd missed.

At long last, he let her go. Turning around on his heel, he began making his way into the forest, stepping over a few roots here and there. If he kept on this way, he'd surely make it to a main road or intersection soon enough. "See ya, Princess." His figure was growing smaller and murkier, and Orihime's entire body was trembling, as she practically choked to force down the sobs that wanted to overtake her.

Then, he stopped. Looking over his shoulder with a final lingering gaze, that old devilish glint was in his blue eyes, as his lips curved up into that sneer of his. A last parting shot, perhaps?

"Inoue Orihime. What the fuck _haven't_ you done to me?" And in a flash, he was gone.

Orihime was nearly biting through her sweater sleeves, as her hands covered her mouth, to muffle the scream of pure defeat that was about to come roaring out. She'd have to run, run as fast as her legs would carry her, back to that apartment room that still smelled like him, and collapse onto the bed that just hours ago, they had both shared, and scream as hard as her vocals would allow her to, into her pillow.

But he had said it. He had actually said it. He had said her name.

This time, it was Orihime's turn to make tracks.

**…...**

The news report was on, about three hours later. Grimmjow had been recaptured and hauled back into custody. There was no collateral damage report, though authorities were baffled by the amount of care that had been given to his wounds, by a source he refused to name. They figured it must've been an old contact on the outside.

What the reporters didn't show though, was that back at the prison complex, Grimmjow had nearly killed the doctor who was sent in to examine him, when they'd made a remark about redoing the stitches and cleansing the wounds further. The display was enough for the officials on duty. They let him keep his sutures, and the matter was dropped.

From that time on, Grimmjow was truly labelled as a 'high risk' inmate, and moved to special quarters. His visiting rights were extremely cropped, save for a letter once every six months. Nothing could be included inside the notes. No pictures. His case was also moved forwards, to be examined sooner by the courts.

In the late spring of the following year, it was finally settled. Grimmjow was to be executed by lethal injection, shortly before his twenty-ninth birthday, on July 26th. The announcement was aired on television as a minor note of interest.

Orihime hadn't been allowed to see him anymore. Her cards had been extremely scrutinized. She couldn't afford to drop hints about the nature of their relationship. And she, of course, hadn't been allowed to attend any of the trials. When she finally heard the verdict, it was like watching him walk away all over again. She'd sobbed into her pillow that night, until her body was devoid of fluids, until her throat was hoarse and raw, until she'd finally wound up stumbling to the bathroom because of dry heaves. And still, she had no one else to turn to.

At least the execution wasn't going to be televised.

**A/N:...yeah, kinda a downer after all that's happened. But, well, that's the direction the muse took me...**

**Only two more chapters after this. The story's winding down. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, Faved or Alerted this fic-I've enjoyed taking this journey w/you all. Let me know if this chapter was properly emotional-I want it to be believable, not overwrought and OOC.  
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**Next time: Life and Death. Take care.  
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	25. Say Hello to Heaven

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Say Hello to Heaven**

"Hey, Jeagerjaquez! Save me a spot in Hell, will ya? Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

"You stinking bastard! You still owe me for what you did to my face!"

"Better pray that we don't meet up-I'm set t'go sometime after you. And boy, do I got a score to settle!"

All the catcalls and boos were nothing to Grimmjow as he was led away, down the corridors, to the main room. He could see the fluorescent lighting through the tiny window in the door up ahead, gradually growing bigger with every shuffled step he and his guards took towards it. His hands and ankles were bound, and this time, the guards surrounding him were armed with pistols. It would be stupid to try anything now.

Not like he'd been planning to, though.

Eventually, that room was no longer a distant enemy, and instead was looming right in his face like an opponent waiting with a nasty sucker punch. He lowered his head just slightly as they entered the room, though it certainly wasn't out of fear or shame, or even melancholy-that fucking light was burning his eyes. His sky-shaded gaze briefly scanned over the circular walls, table and equipment that lay before him, and he let out a soft grunt as he was shoved forwards. He was going to be forced to stare up at that stupid overhead as they pulled the cord on him. Just great.

After undoing the chains and strapping him down, the entourage stepped back, to make room for the doctors and priest. Turning his head just slightly to the right, Grimmjow could see that beyond the plexiglass, the lights were out and the viewing room was empty. Or at least, it would be, for another couple of moments, before half of his guards decided to sit their asses down and watch him croak. And they called _him_ sadistic. At least he had bothered to give his prey a head start.

Soon, the sound of clicking footsteps and a creaking door filled his ears, and, just as he'd predicted, the audience was now intently focused on his final moments. He scoffed, as the priest-some old monk-chanted over him, making motions with his hands, beads clinking among his gnarled fingers. Then, he stepped aside, to allow the few remaining guards and the executioner in a white coat to step forwards. "Mercy on your soul."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Can we just get this over with, already? I don't like being around you ugly shits any more than you like seeing me, so let's just finish what we started, huh?" Defiant to the end.

As the guards surrounded him in a half circle and the machine to check his vitals was wheeled over and hooked up, the other doctor began prepping the needle. None of this was really registering in Grimmjow's mind, though. From the beginning, as soon as he'd been let in, he knew: there was no turning back. He wasn't going to slip his way out of the noose this time. His number had been up for a long time. Hell was just late to call him in.

They tied off his right arm, checking for the vein. Out of reflex, he made a fist. There were no nerves, no jolts, no terror, nothing. He felt nothing. At this point, he may as well have been in for a routine checkup.

The guards and priest looked over at him, and the doctors paused in their work, as the list of charges was rattled off to him once more. Nothing he hadn't heard before. He was sorely tempted to make a mocking sign with his hand. The priest gave him one last somber gaze.

"Any last words, son?"

Grimmjow closed his eyes. He'd always imagined this day arriving, and had figured that it would be full of relished kills and conquers and some smart-ass retort that he'd whip out at the last minute, that would never be forgotten by all present, for as long as they lived. They were safe, now that the big cat was being put to sleep. The Pantera.

But this time, all he saw was red hair, grey eyes, and smiling, soft lips. He heard rain. He smelled sweetness and sin and flowers and life. He felt warmth inside his chest and, for the first time, his heart skipped. Grimmjow opened his eyes.

"Say hello to Heaven for me, Princess."

**…...**

"...and this morning, I stubbed my toe while I was changing-but I guess it was a fair exchange, since I actually managed to cook the leek pancakes without burning them? Eheheh..."

The sky was a brilliant shade of blue, as a light, cool breeze played with the trees, scattering leaves and freshly bloomed petals across the streets. It was a glorious spring day, and the populace of Karakura was making the most of it, whether it be through daydreaming students in classes, or happy children on a playground, office workers enjoying jokes among their coworkers, or housewives humming cheery tunes from their youth as they washed the floors, did the dishes and laundry, or shopped for some new groceries.

In the playground by her house once again, Orihime found herself, sitting against a tree trunk as she stared up at the sky through the clouds. The wind tugged at the ends of her hair, still uncut after so long. She'd had to get into the habit of tying it back more recently, but for today it fluttered about her shoulders, free to shine under the glorious sunlight.

She still hadn't received word back from the supervisors, after all this time, as to where Grimmjow's remains were interred. So, she'd taken a day off from work, the first time in a good while. The weather was just too beautiful to pass up. She had to be outside, to bask in it. And on days like these...oh, how much easier it was, to let the wind carry your words to the higher beings above. It was time for them to have some good old-fashioned chatting.

"Let's see, what else haven't I told you...oh, Kurosaki-kun and Kuchiki-san are having their first child! It's going to be a Fall baby, though they don't know the gender yet. Wait, maybe I did tell you this already? If I did, then disregard it. But you did know they were married, right? I know we never talked about it, 'cause of...well, you know. But maybe you'd wanna know, anyway? I kinda find the image of a little Ichigo running around to be really funny. Hee hee! I never did see him as a kid, anyway-we didn't meet until much later. And that reminds me, I never did ask you what you were like as a kid either, Grimmjow..."

As the sun continued to warm her under its soothing rays, and the breeze drifted in and out of contact with her skin, a small, sad smile began to form on Orihime's lips, and she rested a hand upon her lower abdomen. Her fingers clutched lightly at the fabric of her blue, floral-printed sundress.

"I wonder...if we could have...if we'd ever gotten the chance, I mean...what would our children have looked like? Would you have married me? Well, maybe that isn't exactly the question I want to ask, but I mean...how would you have done it?"

A single tear managed to slip out from her grey eyes, followed by another. The lovely sky was beginning to blur in her vision.

If things had been different...if Grimmjow hadn't turned away from his feelings, if she hadn't been so afraid...if they'd tried early to make it work, when they were in high school, instead of meeting up when they did...if she'd reached out to him, instead of letting her friends hide everything from her and shelter her to the truth...if he had never joined the Espada, even...what could have been? What would have been?

Should've, could've, would've. Those were words that didn't need to exist in one's vocabulary. But Orihime couldn't help it-every so often, her thoughts would wander, back to that time shared, and how things could have been different. This ache inside...was there anything else in the world that could ever take away the pain? Even as she smiled, she was crying. Inside, it was always raining. In her life, it would never stop raining. Because of what that rain had yielded to her.

However. She cherished the memories she had now, even with the sorrow they linked to. If she had the power, would she honestly rewrite history, and lose those few beautiful moments, just to destroy that pain? Would she really change anything at all? The person she had become, because of her experiences, everything she had learned, the growth she had achieved...was she willing to throw it all away?

Maybe someday, someday, when the wounds didn't hurt so bad, and she were a little bit stronger...perhaps then, she could finally share everything with another, perhaps one of her dear friends who'd had time to grow and move on.

As she fell asleep under the shade of the towering tree and the ever-expanding blue sky though, Orihime just didn't know.

**A/N: And here we are.**

**Now things are really starting to get heavy. I know, I know-a downer ending. Please don't kill me? Like I've said before, this was never meant to be a typical romance story, and as I answered I always saw the ending as a tragedy.  
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**But. There's still one chapter left. And...maybe it'll ease the pain some. IDK. It's...special. That's all I can really say. All feedback is welcomed and appreciated. I'll be seeing you again, when the curtain finally falls on this bizarre little play of mine. **

**[Random factoid: if you haven't already noticed, the chapter titles are all based off of song titles-namely, some of my favorites. XD Anyone wanna try guessing who plays them all? In exchange for a complete list of artists, I'll give out a fanart request in return. There is no obligation to this, however. I just feel like sketching something.]  
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**Take care, everyone.  
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	26. Epilogue: Iris

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.**

**Epilogue: Iris**

"_Here! Over here! There's a perfect spot for us to sit!"_

"_Tch, can't believe you talked me into doing this shit..."_

_The sky was so blue and so blinding. Not even the brightness of the sun could mask its shade. There wasn't a single cloud to be seen for miles, and if you stared too long at it, you would honestly feel as if you were being sucked up, up and away...into weightlessness, into nothing, into the air, where you would free fall until...until eternity came to an end, one supposed._

_Marching up that rolling green hill on such a gorgeous summer's day were two lone figures. The first one, a young woman with flowing amber locks tucked under a straw hat, clad in a white sundress that billowed about her knees. The other, a somewhat sour looking male, with spiky blue locks that matched the sky above him and his narrowed eyes below, as taut muscles stretched up, to lift a hand to shield his eyes from the light. He was dressed in a form-fitting black tank top and navy jeans. In his other hand was a large basket. "Oi! When are ya gonna sit down already?"_

"_Right now!" His companion giggled, as she plopped down right in the middle of the green grass, skirt splayed out over her legs. He let out an exasperated sigh as he made his way over, plunking the basket down beside her._

"_Dumb ass. At least wait until I set everything up, eh?" She merely responded with a squeal of delight, as he scooped her up easily in one arm from the ground, and threw out a checkered blanket with his now free other hand._

_Settling themselves on the thin mat, the male looked towards the basket, a new hint of curiosity evident in his vivid eyes. "So, what the hell did you pack in here, anyway? It's heavy enough-could feed an army, easily." The redhead beside him shook her head._

"_You'll see, Grimmjow. You'll see." He groaned-Orihime could be a real pain when she chose to play out the whole 'mysterious' act. He wasn't much for these kinds of surprises. "Come on, it's my fucking birthday!"_

"_Which is why we have to draw everything out! It's such a wonderful day-do you really wanna rush here? Just the two of us?" Grimmjow was forced to look into her pleading grey eyes, as she now held the hat in her hands, below her quivering lips. Just like a child. He scoffed. "Whatever, whatever. So how the hell'd you find this place, anyway?"_

_Her gaze became more distant then, as she set the hat down beside her. "Sora brought me here, once...it's such an amazing place, but so few people come out here to enjoy it." Then, her expression brightened, as she looked at her companion. "Which is why I brought you out here today! It means a lot to me, and so do you! It's your birthday, so I wanted to give you something really special!" Orihime waggled a finger in his face. "Remember, I even skipped school for you just to do this!"_

_Grimmjow had to chuckle at her comment and enthusiasm. That's right, she had. "Okay, I get it." He __looked around. True enough, it was beautiful. Completely untouched by human hands, not a scrap of litter or a single trace of development present. Just a tree up high behind them, at the peak of the hilltop as they rested on the slope. Which reminded him..._

"_Hey. Woman." She looked at him, and saw that mischievous gleam in his eye. Uh-oh. Just what was he up to now? "Yes, Grimmjow-eep!"_

_He'd tackled her then, pinning her to the checkered blanket. The basket lay ignored to the side, as Grimmjow had Orihime's delicate wrists in his grasp. On his knees, one leg rested between hers, holding down the front of her skirt even as the side rose up where her one leg had drawn up slightly. Her hair spread out into the grass, and her chest rose and fell with quicker breaths. He leaned closer, noticing again just how goddamn beautiful she really was that day. "We're all alone here."_

"_I-I know that, Grimmjow." She couldn't hide the stutter to her voice, nor could she hide the rising color in her cheeks. He had let go of her wrists, to trace a line down, from her throat to the top of her breasts. His hand stopped suddenly at an angle, as if halted by an unseen force. His eyes never left hers._

"_Do you really trust me out here? Like this?" He leaned down closer, lips but an inch away from hers. "Just like this? All alone?" _

_There were so many others who would've had his head if they knew what was going on right now. So many who always got in his face, about how he was "corrupting poor, helpless Orihime-chan!" It sickened him to no end. Didn't they know she could make her own damn decisions? That if he'd wanted to hurt her, he would've done it already? He was so close, he could practically hear the rapid increase to her heartbeat. There was silence for a few moments. Then..._

_Orihime's face broke into that famous smile of hers. "Of course, Grimmjow. Every time." She sat up to brush her lips against his gently. "Happy birthday."_

_He wrapped an arm around her, and eased her back onto the blanket, for a fuller, more intimate kiss._

**A/N: You can interpret this scene however you like: perhaps it's a dream being had by the slumbering Orihime under the tree [from the last chapter], or maybe it's a glimpse into another world; a peek into the life that could have been if everything had gone right from the start. It's really up to you.**_  
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**Yeah, the ending is very bittersweet. Although this chapter is included, we all know how the story officially ended. Apologies for any tears involved.**

**So. This is the end of our journey. I must admit, it's been quite the memorable one. I had _so_ much fun sharing this w/you all! BIG thank yous to everybody who read, Alerted, Faved and/or Reviewed this fic. It was great to meet all of you, and hopefully...you'll come back again? ^w^  
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**Which is to say: for those of you who are interested in another 'Bleach'/GrimmHime fix from me...I've currently begun work on a NEW full-length GrimmHime fic. If all goes well, I hope to have it complete in half a year's time. [I pray this doesn't sound conceited. ^^;]  
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**Alright, everybody. Take care.  
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